Sansa The Mother
by Lady3jane
Summary: Yes, it's a love story, but about a Mother's love, which found Sansa in the most unexpected way. Ok, ok, it's also THEIR love story, with lots of smut. It's set immediately after Sansa makes the right decision and I've taken a few liberties with other, minor, characters as you'll see...
1. Chapter 1

**Sansa. The Mother.**

**Maybe everyone in their GOT Fanfic career has to write a Sansa story and this is mine. What can I say? Inspiration can come from the most unlikely of situations. Venessia, this one is for you…**

Lady Sansa Stark, betrothed to the King on the Iron Throne, snuggled further under the blankets, trying to avoid listening to the voices in the room. But she couldn't. These weren't the hushed tones of her maids come to wake and dress her; these were little voices, talking in loud whispers. Talking about her.

"Do you think she's awake?"

"I think we should wake her up."

"Shouldn't you wake a Princess with a kiss?"

"No, stupid, that's only if they've been asleep for a hundred years. She's only been asleep since last night. And anyway, _we_ couldn't wake her up with a kiss, it would need to be a Prince." hissed the girl's voice.

"Could Sandor not do it?"

"No stupid. He's a Knight, not a Prince."

"I'm not stupid!" said the smallest voice "I didn't know a Knight was different than a Prince. Nobody tells me nuthin'."

Sansa smiled. She could tell that little voice _everything_ about Princes and Princesses. She knew all the old tales and could match any Septa in the Kingdom when it came to telling stories about Kings and Queens and Knights in shining armour.

She opened her eyes. Three startled, dirty faces stared back at her. She smiled at them and cheerily greeted them with 'Good Morning!"

"Hullo" The tallest one, a rather ugly boy with shaggy red hair and freckles muttered back.

"Good morning!" The middle one, who looked like a dirty boy with a thin pointy face, long hair and patched clothes gleefully repeated. Only the voice gave her away as a girl.

"Are you a real Princess?" said the smallest voice. His little face still had the appealing chubbiness of his babyhood and big brown eyes stared at her in amazed wonder.

She giggled. They all looked so serious and it was such an absurd situation.

"Well, I wasn't born a Princess. I was born a Lady, but I was going to marry a Prince, who became a King, so I suppose I am sort of a Princess, or I _was_ sort of a Princess." Thinking about Joffrey brought her back down to earth with a thump.

"Where's Sandor?" she asked.

"Daddy's outside. We have to tell him when you wake up." The dirty little cherub said, obviously taking his orders very seriously.

"Is Sandor your Daddy?" Sansa stammered. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She hadn't thought about that. She hadn't thought about _anything _last night, except escaping King's Landing and Joffrey. Sandor had offered her a chance of escape and she'd seized it. Even as they'd ridden through the night, they hadn't exchanged a word. He had been drunk and too intent on encouraging his destrier to carry them as far and as fast as possible and she had been too shocked to do anything except shiver and hold on as tightly as she could. She had obviously fallen into an exhausted, dreamless sleep and Sandor had brought her to this place and put her to bed.

_Sandor put her to bed._ She frantically looked under the bedclothes, but she was still wearing her bodice and petticoats. She hadn't considered _his_ motives for stealing her away last night. She had only thought of herself and getting as far away from Joffrey as possible.

"Sandor's not his Daddy!" the little tomboy chattered, as only little girls can. Sansa smiled again, this time with relief. At least she didn't have to face a disgruntled wife this morning, or at least she hoped not.

"His Daddy was also his Grandfather and his mummy gave him to Sandor so he would take him away and save him. Bad people called him an _abomination._" the girl declared, pronouncing the last, awful word carefully, beaming with pride at being able to relay such grown up information.

Sansa's mouth fell open in shock and the biggest boy elbowed the dirty girl in the ribs.

"Ouch! You hurt me Mycah!" the tomboy yelped in a most un-tomboy like way.

"Sandor told you not to tell anyone that Weasel!" He hissed at her.

"But she's not _anyone!_ She's a sort of Princess and everyone knows that you can tell Kings and Lords and Princesses anything and they've got to help you. It's the law!" The little girl declared triumphantly.

Sansa thought about the endless claims on her late Father's time, made by small folk with petty concerns and supposed the little girl was right in a kind of a way. A Lord or a King did have a duty to help his small folk. She wasn't sure if it applied to Princesses though. And anyway, she would never been a Princess now. But this didn't seem to be the right time to be arguing about the obligations of Lords or Princesses, so she changed the subject.

"You said that Sandor wanted to know when I woke up. I think we should all go and see him."

The oldest boy nodded, before walking out of the door. Sansa struggled to get out of the bed as the younger two watched, fascinated. The bedclothes were patchwork and heavy. Someone, long ago by the looks of it, had spent many hours sewing all manner of different materials into a bedspread. It was obviously a labour of love as Sansa's critical eye couldn't help noticing the tiny stitches were perfect, no matter the shape or the texture of the material. Her tight bodice made it difficult to sit up. She couldn't remember ever having slept in her bodice before and, right now, she would dearly have loved to rip it off and sink into a nice, hot bath, but she needed to see Sandor first.

Her dress was lying on the floor where he must have discarded it the night before. It was filthy from the ride and ripped from the assault at the hands of the mob. She couldn't think about that now. She pushed all those thoughts to the back of her mind, knowing she would never be able to look at that dress again without associating it with that awful night. She shuddered. She would have it burnt as soon as possible.

Sandor's dirty King's Guard cloak was lying at the foot of the rough wooden bed. She tried not to notice the splatters of dried blood as she fastened it around her shoulders. It smelled of horse and sweat and fire. Surprisingly such base smells didn't repulse her as she pulled the cloak tightly and, if she didn't think about the blood, she actually enjoying the feeling of the rough wool on her arms and the smell of her escape around her was unexpectedly comforting. Had he slept here with her last night? In the bed or on the floor? Bile rose in her throat as the myriad implications of her night flight began to occur to her. Again she pushed them to the back of her mind and set off to find Sandor. He had been her saviour in the night. What would he be this morning?

A child's hand grabbed each of hers as she made for the door. Oh. They wanted to hold her hands. That was unexpected, but quite welcome. One was deliciously warm and soft, baby fingers not yet big enough to grip her whole hand, instead just holding on tightly to two of her fingers. The other was small but very strong, clasping her hand, claiming it, as if never intending to let it go. How different the two little hands felt, but each adorable in their own way.

She had to avert her eyes as she was led through the rest of the dwelling. The walls were made of pilled logs; the floor was uneven, impacted stone and earth. Everywhere was mess. The table was strewn with half burnt candles and old wax, dirty, dull plates and wooden bowls, crumbs and dollops of congealed food. The chairs were rough, the wood unpolished and sticky fingerprints were evident in the layer of dust that lay everywhere. Sansa would have dismissed the house maid on the spot, then she realised there was likely no servant, hence the mess. She chose to ignore the squalor and continued through without comment.

Outside was even worse. Chickens squawked and flurried away as the little group left the cabin. An enormous dog, sleeping on its side in the sun woke up at the racket and, smelling an intruder, jumped up, snarling and barking, teeth bared. It launched itself at Sansa and would have knocked her to the ground, if it hadn't been chained and the chain too short to allow it near to the cabin. It jerked and yelped in frustration at the chain preventing its attack.

Weasel shouted "Down dog! Bad dog!" and at the sound of her voice the animal stopped fighting the chain and collapsed, whimpering onto its stomach.

"Is that thing safe?" Sansa stammered, still terrified by the ferocity of its attack.

"Of course. He's Sandor's." Weasel replied, as she walked over to the beast. As she approached, it obediently rolled over onto its back, tongue lolling as it wriggling with pleasure as Weasel rubbed its tummy. Sansa shuddered, and was glad when Weasel returned to hold her hand.

The clearing around the cabin was dried, rutted mud. No doubt, when the rains came this would become a moat of mud. Tall trees had been felled for a good distance around the dwelling, but their broken stumps were still sticking out of the ground, some half dug out or sitting on their side, dried, tangled roots reaching desperately skyward.

In addition to the myriad stumps, between the log cabin and the tree line were some half dug, weeded areas, a ramshackle enclosure with a pig and, from the multiple squeals emanating from that direction, piglets too. Geese honked in the distance. She hoped Sandor wasn't too far away. The children led her around one side of the cabin and, off towards the trees, she saw him, swinging a long handled axe, the metal glinting in the sunlight as it rose and swung through the air, to fall violently on the log to be chopped. The older boy – Mycah, was already there, scurrying to pick up the chunks of wood as they flew from the impact of Sandor's axe. As she came closer, she could see sweat glistening on his bare back in the sun and she could hear the grunts of effort as his axe rose and fell, splitting the logs with a satisfying 'thwack'.

The children seemed to know to stop a safe distance was away from the flying chunks of wood and they pulled her back as she tried to walk on.

"You need to wait here until he stops. It won't be long. Chopping wood is the most tiring thing a man can do." Weasel chattered. "Sandor says when you fight a man, he'll always tire, but when you're chopping wood, the axe never does."

Sansa stood in the clearing in the sunlight listening to the rhythmic grunt as the axe was swung overhead, whoosh as it fell through the air and thwack as it splintered another log. _Grunt, whoosh, thwack._ She watched his muscles, under sun browned skin, heft the axe then shudder with each impact. Sweat poured from his head into his eyes, to be occasionally wiped away on a forearm corded with muscle and covered in thick, black hair. From a distance and because the side of his face that was turned to her had only a little scarring, he might have been considered almost handsome by some and, as he worked in the sunlight, she was transfixed.

She couldn't stop her self staring at the numerous scars and raised welts that crisscrossed his arms and back and the thick hair on his broad chest. That black hair continued down a hard, flat stomach before disappearing into his breaches. She stared at the strong arms that had carried her off the night before; muscles bulging with effort, veins defined under glistening skin and wondered how men could be so different from women. When birthed there was only one difference, one very obvious difference, and Sansa felt her face flush when she though about _that _difference and wondered, not for the first time, what the difference _there_ would be between a man and a boy. She thought of her own soft body and the contrast with his, so hard and flat, all angles and thick hair. How could the passing of a few years make the differences so dramatic?

No man that Sansa had been acquainted with before would do anything as menial as chop wood – that was for the peasants. The thought of Joffrey swinging that long shafted axe was so incongruous that she could have burst out giggling, but there was nothing remotely funny about the man working before her. Somehow, his toiling to ensure his children would be kept warm seemed the most noble, most heroic, thing in the world and the Tourneys and swordplay she had thought so gallant, mere games for boys.

She felt, nervous, frightened and excited all at the same time. She had to bite her lip and grip the children's hands to stop herself from turning and running away, to hide herself under the bed clothes. No, she instinctively knew that running to the bed, _his_ bed, was a particularly bad idea. That was the last place she should seek refuge. And anyway, why should she feel this pressing need to run? Run away from what? Surely the removal of _one_ item of clothing couldn't make this much difference? But it wasn't just his near nakedness intimidating her. She knew that, compared to him, she was weak and helpless and that there would be no Knight to come charging into the clearing to rescue her this time. The only kind of Knight for miles around was standing before her and he would deny he was any Knight at all.

Finally Sandor stopped and, wiping his brow, turned towards her. The spell was broken. The red, scared and puckered ruin that was his face made her gasp and involuntarily grip the children's hands tighter.

"What's wrong?" Weasel asked. "You'll get used to his face. You're not scared of him are you?"

The truth was that Sansa was scared. Very scared. Not of what was going to happen right now, in the daylight, in front of the children, but of what was going to happen tonight or tomorrow, perhaps everyday until she got back home to Winterfell. Sandor Clegane was a man of violence and she couldn't rely on his chivalry to protect her maidenhood here, for she already knew he had none. No-one knew where she was and he had her here for as long as wanted to keep her, or until someone found her. She would pray to The Old Gods and The Seven that 'someone' wouldn't be Joffrey.

Sandor leant on his axe to catch his breath, grinning crookedly as he noticed her with the children. It occurred to her that she had never seen him smile before. Although it pulled unpleasantly at the scarring, as if it was an expression unfamiliar to his face, she thought she saw a twinkle in his eyes, or perhaps it was just the sunlight glinting on the sweat on his brow. She tried to return his smile with a nervous one of her own.

The two children pulled at her hands so she would walk nearer to him. Sansa had not seen a man without his shirt on before. Of course she had seen her brothers when they were younger, but Sandor was certainly no mere boy. Men were careful to maintain the proper sense of decorum around Ladies and it was not deemed 'proper' by either sex that men be seen unclothed.

"Have you anything to say for yourself or are you just going to stand there staring all day?" he grunted.

"I…I just wanted to say thank you for last night."

"Is that all?" he snorted and hoisted the axe again.

"And to ask when you're going to take me home!" she blurted out.

"So you want me to take you home?" he rasped as he rested the axe head on the ground again. "Well, I might or I might not."

"What do you mean?" she implored, the seed of hope that had been planted last night suddenly withering.

"It depends on what ransom you'll fetch from _The King in the North_." He sneered, mocking her brother's title. She already knew from his refusal to take a Knight's vows or be called 'Ser', the contempt in which he held such titles.

Sansa panicked. Had he sent word of a ransom already? Robb would never pay, never give in to blackmail. He would bring his bannermen and he wouldn't stop until she was free or dead and her death avenged. She knew her brother would kill everyone who stood in his way, to prove to the whole of Westeros that the Starks punished those who wronged them.

She clutched the children's hands tighter; now realising that being rescued might not be as romantic as it sounded in the songs. She remembered the stories of stolen maidens and bloody vengeance and how the children's fate was never mentioned. Surely there would have been children when maidens were stolen, why else were maidens taken but for bedding? She remembered the fate of the Targaryen babes and an image of the log cabin burning with three little bodies, lifeless on the ground came unbidden into her mind. Would that be their fate while she was carried off by her victorious, vengeful brother? The thought of Robb and his army charging to her rescue now scared her, rather than comforted her.

"_My mother_ would pay you a better price than my brother I am sure." She offered enthusiastically. Yes, she was sure he mother would pay _anything_ to have her returned safe and sound and still marriageable.

"Lady Catelyn you say?" he snorted. "We'll see."

He hoisted the axe again.

"What do you mean?" she begged

As he turned to her again, the anger that appeared to consume him at Kings Landing returned to his voice and his eyes.

"Don't question me little bird! I like you caged here well enough for now." He growled, before bringing the axe down suddenly, all his strength behind it, shattering the log at his feet into a dozen pieces. Conversation over.

Sansa ran for the cabin, bad idea or not. She knew she was about to cry and didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her do it.

Sandor watched her go, his bloodied Kings Guard cloak billowing behind her, long auburn hair flying in the wind as she ran. Even in flight, she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He sighed, put down the axe and sat heavily on the nearest log.

"So what do you think?" he asked the three children. "Should we keep her or sell her back to her Northmen?"

"Oh, keep her! Keep her!" Weasel squealed excitedly.

"Will she be my mummy if she stays?" Baby asked, stumbling over the logs and chunks of wood to cling to Sandor's knee.

"We'll see." The big man chuckled as he ruffled the child's hair.

"What about you Mycah? You're keeping quiet. What do you think?"

The youth grimaced and glared at the man who had been ordered to execute him by Prince Joffrey the year before, while Mycah had only been practicing sword play with Arya Stark. Sandor had instead saved him and brought him here

"If _she_ stays, will _you_ stay and not leave us again to sell your sword to those bloody Lannisters?"

Sandor smiled ruefully. The boy was perceptive and growing fast. He knew that soon Mycah would disappear to make his own way in the world, but had loyalty enough to Sandor and the other children not to leave while he was still needed.

"It's only Lannister gold that's keeping starvation from our door boy. We need more land cleared and crops planted before we can feed ourselves and winter is coming." Sandor snorted at his involuntary use of the Stark motto. But winter surely was coming and he didn't have enough coin or food stored away to ensure their survival if it was a hard one, as everyone said it would be.

"We'll see." Was the only true answer he could give the boy.

Mycah walked away in disgust, shoulders hunched, head down. Sandor knew that was no proper answer, but he didn't know whether he would, or could, make Sansa Stark stay. A tiny flicker of hope, that she might _choose_ to stay with him, wouldn't die, no matter how many times he told himself he was a fool for ever imagining she would choose _him _over Winterfell, over _anything_.

-o-

A few hours later Sansa woke again to find two little people in her room, sitting on the bed this time. She had cried herself to sleep and was in no mood for fun and stories about Princesses now.

"What do you two want and don't you ever knock?" She snapped.

The little boy's bottom lip began to quiver, upset by her sharpness. His big sister put her arm protectively around him, while glaring at Sansa.

"Princesses shouldn't speak to little children like that. He's only small and he don't like shouting."

Immediately Sansa felt guilty.

"I'm sorry. I'm hungry and I shouldn't have said that." Sansa muttered, trying to sooth her own guilty conscience.

"I can make you something to eat if you want" Weasel offered, brightening at the prospect of being able to help the Princess.

Sansa sat on the least broken, least dirty chair and watched as the little girl bustled around preparing food. She gave simple orders to Baby (who wasn't even a toddler anymore, but who seemed to have no other name) and he obediently, but clumsily, did everything Weasel told him to.

Sansa sat miserably, hunched in the filthy white cloak, feeling sorry for herself. She was hungry and dirty and stuck in this hovel for the foreseeable future.

Without warning the cabin door flew open and Sandor's massive frame blocked out the light.

"I smelled something good!" he boomed. He stopped in his tracks as he saw Sansa sitting grasping her knees under the cloak, while the two children busily attended to her.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"We're making the Princess something to eat." Weasel replied proudly as she spooned dollops of boiled barley and beans into a bowl for Sansa.

"You two are making _her_ food?" he rasped incredulously. Weasel and Baby both nodded enthusiastically.

Sandor stomped over to Weasel and picked up the bowl. In two strides he was standing in front of Sansa. She held out her hands expectantly.

He had intended to dump the contents of the bowl over her spoiled head, but as she raised her arms up, the cloak parted and fell from her shoulders, exposing the creamy globes of her breasts, pushed tightly up and together by her bodice. The unexpectedness and wonder of the sight changed his mind for him. He grabbed the top of the bodice with one hand, jerking her towards him, before tipping the food over her neck and chest with the other.

She cried out in shock.

"You will NEVER ask those children to cook, clean or attend to you EVER again!" he ranted. "Do you think you're better than them? Do you?!"

She didn't move or answer, she just stared at him, stunned.

He dropped the bowl, hearing it clatter on the ground. One hand was still pulling on her bodice. With the other, he smeared the barley and beans across her chest. As the wet mixture oozed down into her bodice, his fingertips inadvertently slipped down between stiffened fabric and skin, grazing her nipple and causing them both to gasp with shock. She looked up at him just as he looked down at her. For an instant their eyes met, before he jerked his hand back as if it had touched a burning coal.

"Never again Sansa." He muttered. "Do I make myself clear?"

She jumped up and ran for the door, leaving a trail of beans and barley as she went, the white cloak abandoned underneath the chair.

"The stream's downhill!" Weasel shouted after her. The young girl turned to Sandor.

"We didn't mind. She's a Princess!" Baby nodded in solemn agreement.

"_Was _a Princess and even Kings and Queens shit the same as us. You are not her slaves. _You are her equals and the equal of any man or woman alive and don't you two ever forget it!_"

He grabbed his cloak from the floor, rough soap from the kitchen and stomped off after his fleeing little bird.

The path down to the stream was well worn and he didn't doubt she would have followed it. His suspicion was confirmed by a trail of chickens, pecking at the odd bean or grain of barley. When he walked out of the trees he saw her, sitting at the edge of the stream, arms huddled around her knees, sunlight glinting off that shining auburn hair.

He stopped behind and to the side of her.

"There's a ledge under the waterfall you can stand on to wash. If you clean your clothes and lay them out, they'll dry in the sun. You'll need these." He rasped, dropping the cloak and soap on the grass beside her.

"Swear to me you'll leave me alone and not watch." She pleaded, without looking at him.

"I swear." He grunted, having absolutely no intention of keeping that oath. As he strode off towards the trees, he mentally added 'oath breaker' to his already long list of failings.

Once he was well in the trees and out of Sansa's sight, he doubled back, working diagonally through the trees towards the waterfall, taking care to keep quiet and hidden. When he daren't move any closer for fear of being seen, he stood behind a wide fir tree with a clear view to the water.

She was still standing, watching the trees, making sure he had kept his word. He cursed himself for being too weak to resist this temptation.

It wasn't long before she turned and walked the short distance along the grassy bank to the waterfall. Turning around once more to check she wasn't being watched, she quickly unfastened the laces of her bodice and dropped it on the grass, exposing the milky white skin on her back to the sun and to him. Then layer upon layer of petticoats fell at her feet until only small clothes of the finest silk covered the curves of her buttocks.

Sandor felt his erection straining uncomfortably against the laces of his breeches. He'd imagined her naked over and over again, ever since the day he'd first laid eyes on her. How she would disrobe slowly before him and how he would, finally see if auburn hair covered her cunt as beautifully as it did her head. In his fevered dreams she had been close enough to touch and then to fuck, but he was more than willing to make do with spying on her from this distance. He was behaving as if he was some awe stuck, virgin boy desperate for his first sight of a naked woman. He'd seen every colour, shape and size and fucked most of them, but none of them had excited him as much as his little bird.

In one swift movement her small clothes were down and she stepped daintily out of them and into the pool at the base of the waterfall. He heard her draw her breath in sharply as her toes made contact with the cool liquid. He imagined she might make that same little gasp when he took her raspberry teat in his mouth for the first time.

She gingerly moved towards the cascading, sparkling water. When she was within touching distance, she held out first one hand, then the other, letting them break the curtain of water, before pushing a shoulder forward. She gave a series of high little cries as her shoulder and then her breasts, her legs and body were all under the waterfall. In his dreams he had heard those cries as his fingers strummed her clit for the first time. He willed her to turn around so he could see her glorious cunt.

She didn't oblige, soaping herself as she faced the waterfall. He strained forward to get a better view, his cock straining against his laces, also eager for more. She turned slightly, enabling him to see the curved globe of her breast, as she worked the soap in a circle over her glistening skin. He imagined her tugging on her teats with soapy fingers, making those red berries poke out from the suds. He felt the tip of his cock ooze and his breath saw with desperate lust.

When the soap slipped out of her hands and she bent over to try and retrieve it, exposing the wondrous, mysterious crack of her arse, knew there was no option but to seek relief. He reached into his breaches and drew out his rampant cock, pumping it hard and fast and when she, unexpectedly straightened up in front of him, confirming his fevered imaginings of her auburn cunt, he had to bite on his free hand to stop himself roaring her name as he came in great wracking convulsions, cum arcing into the air, before splattered uselessly on the grass below.

Ashamed by the violence of his lust, he quickly sorted himself and, after one final, long look, he stalked back up the hill to the cabin.

-o-

Sansa was in bed, almost asleep, her bodice and petticoats washed, dried and folded tidily on the one large wooded chest in the room. She had managed to convince herself that he wouldn't come to her now and sleep was beckoning, the blankets pulled up to her chin when the door swung open and Sandor barged in, swaying in the door frame.

Sansa was instantly wide awake, terror making her heart race. She pulled the bed clothes tighter around her chin.

"I'm sleeping in my own bed!" He rasped, staggering as he tried to remove his outer leather jerkin in the near dark. He dropped it on the floor and started pulling on the laces of his shirt. Sansa shivered at the memory of his powerful, naked torso earlier that day.

Fear emboldened Sansa. She knew she had only minutes to save herself from the man who, the night before, had been her saviour. Speaking as boldly as she could manage with her heart racing and her throat dry, she imagined she was Queen Cersie and tried to mimic her condescending supremacy of tone. Trying to keep her voice calm and authoritative, Sansa proclaimed

"My mother will not pay nearly so much for me if I am not a maiden when I am returned!"

"And who said I was going to return you?" He leered, "I might enjoy keeping you here and clipping those pretty wings little bird."

"Then my brother will have his vengeance!" – another desperate throw of the dice.

"_King in the North!_" he spat "Let him try!"

"Well if you have no fear for yourself, then what about…_the children_?" she played her last ace.

He stopped undressing and scowled at her, swaying slightly. She knew she had found his weakness; the children. She felt guilty for using them as her defence, but the alternative was too awful to contemplate.

"If you don't get out of here now, I'll scream and scream and scream." She vowed, trying to keep her voice from faltering. "Is that how you're going to teach Mycah to treat a woman? Do you want Weasel and Baby to hear how _their Daddy_ treats a Princess?"

Sandor didn't answer. She knew she was helpless now and if chose to climb on top of her, no amount of screaming would prevent him taking what he wanted. Eventually he cursed her under his breath and stormed out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

Weasel dropped her head over the side of the loft sleeping area Sandor had made for them in the roof of the cabin and asked

"Do you want to sleep up here? We can make room."

"No" Sandor snapped. "The barn will do me tonight. She'll try and run when she thinks we're sleeping, but the geese will give her game away. Wake me after she's gone in case I sleep too soundly."

"You're not going to let her leave are you?" Weasel asked anxiously, knowing that 'sleeping soundly' only happened when Sandor was well into his cups.

"She won't get far. Mycah, you come and get me. I'll need your help."

Mycah dropped his red head over the side.

"Yes Ser!"

Sandor drew him a filthy look and the two children giggled. They were too high up for him to reach. He would need to climb the narrow ladder and he was too big and too drunk to manage that without a lot of effort and cursing. They were safe, for now, from his wrath at their use of his most hated word -'Ser'.

Sandor stomped off to the barn, slamming another door behind him as he went. Damn woman. He needed more sour wine to sooth his hurt.

**Next chapter: The Fayre**


	2. Chapter 2 - The cabin in the woods

**Chapter 2**

**The cabin in the woods**

**I have to thank you all for the overwhelming response I received to the first chapter of this story. I've been writing Gendry/Arya Fanfic for about 6 months now and I've never had a response like that before. You San/San fans are much more generous with your reviews! Hope you like this chapter as much.**

**This was supposed to be 'The Fayre', but alas it became too long, so I had to split it. **

Sandor jerked awake, his soldier's reflexes making him grab the hilt of his sword as Mycah shook his shoulder.

"She's gone." Mycah muttered. "I waited as long as I dared. What if she finds the road? The next farm is less than half a day's walk away. She could be there by now."

"Don't worry boy. She'll not find the road. She'll have headed north, sure as a Lannister pays their debts." Sandor snorted.

He told Mycah to bring Sansa's pillow while he unfastened the rope that tethered Dog. He let Dog have a good sniff at the pillow and then a sniff around the ground. Sure enough, Dog quickly picked up the scent and, as Sandor had predicted, set off due north. The night was clear and starlit. Anyone who had been taught the stories of the stars in the sky would be able to find north and Sandor had no doubt that Lady Sansa would have been taught those stories well.

"When we get close I want you to circle ahead and howl like a wolf. Let's see how our Stark Princess likes that."

Mycah nodded his acknowledgement of the instruction and the two of them set off after Dog into the forest.

Once they were under the canopy of the trees, the stars were only infrequently visible and even a man who had spent half his adult live outdoors, as Sandor had, would have found it difficult to keep north. It soon became apparent that Sansa had not managed to maintain her northerly direction and was heading northwest and down hill, towards the stream. Dog didn't waver and led them quickly through the trees, pulling on his rope, anxious to follow the trail.

They had only been following Dog for a short time when the animal became excited, whining and pulling on the rope, obviously smelling the objective of their pursuit. Sandor hauled Dog to a standstill and the three of them stood, quietly listening. At first all their human ears could hear was their own heavy breathing, but then, sure enough, in the distance, they could hear someone noisily blundering through the forest.

"Circle around and uphill. I'll wait here and we'll see where she runs." Sandor whispered to Mycah. He nodded and was off, moving silently through the trees.

Sandor slowly moved closer, clamping a hand over Dog's muzzle to keep the animal quiet, until he could see Sansa slowly making her way through the trees ahead, his King's Guard cloak shining like silver in the moonlight. He didn't have long to wait until Mycah gave a quite convincing wolf howl. Sandor tensed, expecting, perhaps hoping, Sansa would run back towards him, or at least run down to the water, but she defied his expectations by shrieking and dropping to her knees. In the very little light that made its way through the canopy of leaves overhead, he could see her hunched shoulders heaving and soon heard her weeping. The white cape and wailing making her seem almost ghostlike. Ghost or not, had there really been a wolf, she would have been easy prey.

He stood and watched her for a while, knowing that if he were to reveal himself now and explain the wolf trick, he would seem unnecessarily cruel and the boy too. He had expected her to run, maybe even run into his arms. He cursed himself for letting his desire to hold her, his need for her to come to him of her own volition, cloud his judgement.

Mycah was making his way through the trees back towards Sandor, looking for new orders. Sandor silently moved to meet him.

"Do you think you can find your way back?" he whispered hoarsely.

Mycah huffed.

"I'm nearly a man and we're a short distance from the cabin. _Of course_ I can find my way back. Even if I didn't have Dog I could do it!" He hissed.

Sandor handed him the rope and watched the boy and dog disappear silently back into the forest. The dog whined, unhappy at being denied, the game unfinished. Sandor turned his attention to the girl. She was still crouched, sobbing. He moved stealthily towards her. Should he should sneak behind her and grab her, perhaps clasping one hand over her mouth to silence her inevitable screams and the other around her waist or even over one of those soft breasts he so coveted? Or should he announce his presence in a less alarming, less satisfying way?

Deciding a gentler approach more likely to win her over in the long run, he knelt behind her sobbing form, feeling his knees sink into the soft moss of the forest floor.

"Sansa."

He had hoped to speak her name gently, so as not to frighten her, but instead the word rasped gruffly from the back of his throat.

She startled with surprise at the sound of his voice. Turning to him, she launched herself at him, clinging to him as if her life depended upon it. She sobbed into his chest and he felt her whole body shudder against him as it convulsed with the great, wracking, sobs. He warily and very slowly moved his arms up, so they were encircling her and then, as gently as he could, he placed his hard, soldier's hands on her back and let his arms drop and touch her.

"Don't cry Little Bird." Was all he could think of to say.

"You are right! You were right all along!" She sobbed. "I belong in a cage and not outside!" She tightened her grip around him.

Sandor was taken aback by the desperation of her hold.

"I was lost and I'm cold and I'm scared and there was a wolf and …"

Unsure of what to say or do, Sandor clumsily tried to sooth her by stroking her hair. Her wracking sobs calmed until she had almost stopped crying but then, as if suddenly remembering what he was, she pushed him away, with more strength than he would have given her credit for, and staggered to her feet.

He stayed kneeling, hands dropped to his knees, looking up at her.

"So I can't run! Now you've got your chance to do what you want to me. You know I can't stop you and there are no children out here to hear me scream. Just do it! Get it over with!" she screamed hysterically, tears and panic making her voice shrill and brittle.

She was offering him the opportunity to take what he wanted, but he didn't want it like this.

Still kneeling before her, he rasped, "I've done many terrible things Little Bird, but I'm no raper."

She stared down at him, eyes wild with fear. Suddenly she turned and ran, blindly through the trees, stumbling and tripping, desperately trying to get away from him. He caught up with her in a few of his long strides, roughly grabbing her arm and forcing her around to face him.

"Look at me Sansa! Look at me!"

Her head whipped from left to right as she refused to look at him. He grabbed her chin roughly and pulled her head around while also pushing her chin up. Her eyes were still screwed tight.

"Look at me!" he roared.

Her eyes sprang open, shocked by his anger.

"I'm not going to take anything from you that isn't given willingly." He vowed.

"Willingly? Surely you jest Ser?" she mocked.

He shoved her face away, sending her spinning and stumbling to the ground. He immediately bent to help her up; aghast that, in his anger and hurt, he had pushed her so hard that she had fallen.

"Stay away from me!" she shrieked before he could touch her.

"As you say Milady." He choked and turned, marching off into the trees, cursing himself for ever believing she could see him as anything other than a Lannister dog with a ruined face. He felt as if his chest had been run through. With a few words this Little Bird could cut him down harder and further than all the swords he had ever faced.

He heard her wailing behind him. He tried to harden his heart and shut her out, but he couldn't. She was crying "Wait, wait."

He stopped, but didn't turn around. He stood and listened to her stumble towards him.

"Don't leave me here!" she pleaded.

He walked on again.

"Please!"

He ignored her.

"Please Sandor!"

The way she called his name; desperate, pleading, made him stop again. She ran to catch up with him and grabbed his hand. Hers was so soft and delicate inside his.

"I…I _need_ you." She pleaded. "Please."

He was never going to be able to refuse her pleading, despite the pain she had just inflicted upon him.

He grasped her slim hand tightly and walked on, pulling her behind him, but she stumbled and tripped, unable to keep up with the angry pace he was setting. Frustrated, he whirled around and, in one fluid motion, stooped, scooped his arm around the back of her thighs and swung her up over his shoulder. She shrieked, but not too loudly and with surprise, rather than fear and she didn't kick or complain as he marched on through the forest, his hand resting proprietarily on her arse.

When he got back to the cabin he ignored her request to put her down and kept on, kicking the door of the cabin open, marching her past the two older children, who were hanging over the edge of the loft, mouths agape, and still on, shoving the bedroom door open and throwing her roughly onto the bed. He watched with satisfaction as she landed on her back then bounced, hair flying around her, legs flailing in the air, surrounded by a foam of petticoats.

"You'd do well to remember that you need _me_ more than _I _need you Little Bird!" he growled, turning on his heel and slamming the door behind him for the second time that night.

-0-

Sansa woke early the next morning but there were no little faces to greet her this time. She hadn't slept much the night before, her vague plan to escape and, somehow, get back to Winterfell, a pathetic failure. Still, The Hound's promise not to rape her brought her a certain amount of relief. She couldn't quite comprehend how he imagined she would ever give her maidenhood to him willingly. It did, perhaps, explain why he had risked his life to save her from the mob and dared to steal her away from King's Landing. Perhaps he had some madness in him, or perhaps drink made him mad, but she believed he would keep his vow and so she was safe…for now.

Hopefully he would soon send word to Winterfell, to her mother, offering ransom terms and then she would be free. But when she thought of being free, a little voice inside her head whispered

"_Free? Free for what Little Bird?_"

Would she be made to return to Joffrey? Surely her mother wouldn't insist she was still to be married to the King who had murdered her father? Surely Robb would never let that happen? But Sansa had learned enough about the Game of Thrones while at King's Landing to know that men might play the game and fight the wars, but women were the pawns, to be traded and sacrificed according to the whims of men. If not Joffrey then to whom would she be traded next?

And she had run away with Joffrey's Hound. There was no point trying to convince herself this was the same as her aunt Lyanna being stolen away by Rhaegar Targaryen, and dying for love. Sandor was no handsome King and she was just a stupid Little Bird, who had willingly fled one cage, only to find herself trapped in another, and this one rougher than the gilded cage she had fled.

There was nothing else for it but to make the best of this cage and bide her time.

Sansa got up and dressed. Her only outer clothes were either his King's Guard cloak, which was now filthy from her pathetic attempt to escape last night, or the torn dress from King's Landing. Despite having sworn to herself she would never wear it again, having no more appealing alternative, she on the dress.

Once out of the bedroom, she almost fled back in, such was the overwhelming mess that confronted her. She simply didn't know what to do or where to start. Taking a deep breath, she scolded herself for being so useless, after all, low born women spent their whole lives cleaning and washing and cooking. Sandor was right – she had been spoiled. So she pushed up her sleeves and set to work.

She decided to start at the door. Sansa had seen servants use sweeping brushes her whole life, but as she picked up a rather broken one from a corner, she was ashamed to realise she had _never _used one before. By the time she had moved furniture and swept the whole floor, she had a large pile of dirt to show for her efforts, but also aching arms and hands. As she looked at her sore, red hands, she saw a blister beginning on the thumb of her right hand. She sat down heavily on one of the chairs, exhausted and overwhelmed, nearly ready to cry, when Weasel ran in the door.

"Oh you're up! We've been up for ages, but Daddy said to let you sleep." Sansa had thought she was up early, it was certainly much earlier than she had risen in the past, but obviously things were not going to be like the past from now on.

"We're all hungry!" Weasel declared.

Sansa belatedly realised she was expected to make breakfast. She stood up, the guilt she felt at letting the two youngest children cook for her the day before, making her eager to show them that she wasn't completely selfish. To prove it she would make _them_ something to eat.

"What would you like?"

"Eggs!" Weasel said happily.

"Right. Where are the eggs then?" Sansa tried to sound enthusiastic, while wishing she could just go back to bed, curl up and wait for her breakfast to be brought to her.

"In the hen house of course!"

"Oh. You'd better show me then." Sansa said, forcing herself to hide the disgust she felt at having to retrieve eggs from a dirty, smelly, chicken coop.

Weasel led her outside to a _very_ smelly, rough wooden hen house, where the chickens squawked as their business was disturbed. Weasel stood looking at Sansa expectantly.

"Err, what do I do now?" Sansa asked.

"Sandor said you were useless and I said you weren't! But he was right!" Weasel huffed sadly as she struggled to lift the roof of the chicken house herself.

"Did he really say I was useless?" Sansa gasped, so shocked and offended, that she nearly forgot to help the little girl with the heavy wooden roof.

"Yes! And he also said I wasn't to help you, but we'll all starve if I don't!"

Together they collected fourteen warm, brown eggs and Weasel showed Sansa how to start the fire and cook them on a flat iron skillet over the fire, keeping the eggs moving so they didn't burn. As Sansa proudly scooped runny eggs into a bowl, Weasel ran outside and bashed a metal hoop with an iron bar. The ringing noise brought Mycah and Baby running, with Sandor stomping in not long after. They all sat down at the big table and fell greedily upon the eggs Sansa served.

"Well? How do they taste?" Sansa wondered.

Baby pulled a face and Sandor grunted "I've had worse."

"When?" Mycah challenged.

"Raw, hiding in a ditch, hoping the farmer's wife wouldn't catch me stealing them!"

Sandor and Mycah broke into guffaws of laughter as Weasel looked apologetically at Sansa.

"Don't mind them. You can try again tomorrow."

Sansa tried not to cry, but it was hard, particularly when she realised they hadn't even left her any.

-o-

The days passed and turned to weeks. Sansa's days fell into a, not unpleasant, rhythm.

She woke earlier and earlier and the day she was up first, had breakfast ready for them all _and_ none of them complained about the eggs, was one of the proudest of her life. It made her think about what she had been proud of before. Her needle work was the only thing she could remember. Oh, she was proud of her family, Winterfell, even her long auburn hair, but none of that had anything to do with what _she_ had done herself. Her sense of achievement and pride at feeding them all well, spurred her on to try even harder.

Her blisters burst and healed, and her hands grew hard and strong. Her forearms bore burns from cooking and her skin became brown from working outside, but she found that she didn't mind at all. When she was busy, occupied with a menial task, she didn't have time to think about Joffrey or her mother, the ransom or herself. She also realised she had never really helped anyone before, even Arya. She had grudgingly tried to help her little sister with her needlework, but Arya hadn't been interested, or perhaps Sansa just hadn't been patient enough.

It was only when she thought of her brothers and sister that she grew melancholy. She found that, sitting with either Baby or Weasel, or best of all, with both on her knees, telling then stories about snow, the North and her home, made her feel better.

Best of all was when all five of them would sit together in the evenings, after everyone's work was done for the day and the animals shut away. She would light candles and a fire if the night was chill. As Sandor had no books, she would tell stories to entertain the children or then they would all talk and play simple, children's games.

The children loved when Sandor paid attention to them and wasn't barking orders as he did during the day. Every day there was a seemingly endless list of jobs to be done and when the essential chores were done, there was always the land waiting to be cleared so more crops could be planted. Sansa liked to imagine that her being there, looking after the children and feeding him helped and that she wasn't 'useless' as he had once claimed. His aim was to be self sufficient before winter came, and she hoped, for the sake of the children, that he might attain it more quickly with her help.

As the weeks went on, she noticed that Sandor joined them more often in the evenings and spent less time on his own, drinking in the barn. He seemed to like sitting beside the fire with Dog snoring at his feet, listening to her tell the children their stories. Sometimes, he would gruffly interrupt the tales with cynical comments. At first, Sansa was too scared to contradict him although it annoyed her that he could never see the beauty or romance in anything, instead always bringing everything down to his base level. Knights were never heroic to him, but self serving, egotistical hypocrites. Whenever Sansa told a story about a Knight (and those were the children's favourites) he would tell the children that while Knights claimed to defend the weak and the poor, they actually used their strength and fortune of birth to keep those very people oppressed.

But as time went on, she learned that many of his comments (except the ones about Knights) were said in jest and, if she challenged him or made light of what he said, he would rarely argue, seeming quite content to let her win their arguments, laughingly telling the children there was no point arguing with a woman, as they would always win.

Eventually spending time with him became the highlight of Sansa's day and she would find herself rushing to complete her chores, so she could sit down with her needle work and be ready to talk to him as soon as he came into the cabin for the evening. She told herself it was only because she missed adult company and his was all that was available.

Sansa had begun sewing herself a dress out of his white King's Guard cloak. When she had asked his permission he had gruffly told her to do what she wanted with it as he would never be trusted to guard the King again.

One hot afternoon she had taken her half made dress down to the stream to wash out a stain that Baby had made with sticky fingers. A few hours earlier Sandor had harnessed both horses to the massive tree stumps he intermittently attempted to pull out of the ground around the cabin. When they had fled King's Landing he had needed a second horse to carry his armour as even his destrier couldn't carry both of them and a full suit of armour all night, and he wouldn't leave his armour behind.. She was pleased he had chosen her chestnut mare to carry the burden. That afternoon, he had been sweating and pulling as much as the horses and, late in the day, when neither he nor the horses could pull and heave any more, he had taken the steaming, exhausted animals down to the water.

That afternoon, Sansa was feeling hot and sticky herself. As she walked towards the stream, she was looking forward to cooling her feet in the water as she washed the stain out of her dress before working on it again that night.

She had been humming contently to herself as she walked down through the trees, but glancing up to see him naked under the waterfall, stooped her dead in her tracks. This was earlier than he usually bathed. She was usually preoccupied with clearing away after the evening meal when he took himself off to the stream. Today, being hotter than usual, he had obviously decided to bathe early, while the horses rested.

Mercifully he had his back to her and hadn't seen her, but Dog was lying near him on the grass. Sansa darted back into the trees, stopping behind the nearest one, her heart hammering in her chest. As Dog smelled, or heard her, he woke up from his doze and wagged his tail lazily. She tried to softly 'Shhhhh' him, knowing that if he was to get up and run towards her it would announce her presence to his master. Dog stared at her, head cocked to one side, as she waved her hands at him from behind the tree, trying to signal to him to stay still, hoping he wouldn't think that she wanted to play. Mercifully, he seemed to grow bored of watching her and soon rested his head again on his paws, closing his eyes to the sun.

She knew she should have run back to the cabin, but she had seen Sandor without his shirt dozens of times now and she wanted to see what the rest of him looked like. She liked to watch him work when she though he wasn't looking, memorising the pattern of scars that crisscrossed his arms and torso, imaging the battles and tourneys that had taken their bloody toll.

She sneaked a peak from behind her tree and stared at his hairy bottom and legs as he stood under the waterfall. She giggled to herself, never having imagined his legs would have been quite so white or quite so hairy. The skin on his back was smooth and tanned dark brown, so it looked as if the lower half of his body belonged to another man. He turned half around, so he was side on to her. From a distance, she could see something sticking out straight in front of him at the top of his legs, where she knew his manhood was. She initially didn't think what she was seeing could possibly be his manhood, as how could he get his breeches fastened with that sticking out straight in front of him? But as he stroked it and it jumped higher under his touch, she realised it was part of him. She watched, fascinated, as he slowly stroked himself. She knew instinctively that this was something private, something she shouldn't be seeing, something no-one had told her about, something to do with Lords lying with their Ladies. But she didn't know exactly what, and she really wanted to know.

Although she couldn't tear her eyes away, she felt guilty for watching and scared he would find her out. Whatever it was he was doing was making her want to touch between her own legs, however she resisted the urge, sure it was an unladylike thing to do. But the need to touch herself grew stronger the more she watched him and she became aware she had bitten through her bottom lip only when she tasted blood in her mouth.

She held her breath as he worked his hand faster, bracing his legs and pumping his hand to a crescendo, jerking forward as he shouted her name. She was rooted to the spot. Did he need help? Was he shouting for her to come to him? Did he know she was watching him? She was sure he didn't, therefore she wasn't supposed to hear him cry out her name. She turned and ran back up the hill, scared and unsure of what had happened to him and what his shouting her name aloud meant.

That night at dinner, she couldn't look him in the eye, instead casting surreptitious glances at his crotch, wondering how the rod she had seen was hidden in there. She sat and sewed and glanced at the laces of his breeches and, thought about him and what she had seen. She realised that his shouting her name was proof that he still desired her, although he had never touched her, not even accidentally or in passing, since that night in the woods. She had long since accepted he would not break his vow to her. As she sewed she thought about the night he had knelt before her in the wood and carried her home. Perhaps it was those thoughts that made her sew the neckline of her dress lower than would have been considered appropriate for a Lady in King's Landing.

That night, in her bed, she wondered what it would be like to have him lying beside her, touching himself that way and hearing him cry her name. The thought didn't disgust her as it once would have. Instead she found herself wondering what it would be like to stroke her hands over his body and scars and if his manhood would jump to her touch the way it had to his. And she wondered what would happen if she touched between her own legs, or worse, if _he_ did? She thought of him, alone in the barn and wondered if he was awake too thinking of her. He had told her that he wouldn't take her maidenhood unless it was freely given and, in the dark, for the first time, she wondered if she might, someday, want to give him what he so obviously still desired. These thoughts were shameful, but they wouldn't leave her no matter how hard she tried to make them go. Sleep was a long time coming that night, and many nights after.

-o-

One evening, as the five of them sat listening to Weasel sing nursery rhymes with Baby, Sandor, announced that, on the morn, they would all be going to a Fayre. The singing stopped immediately and the shrieking and whooping started. Sansa sat, too stunned to say anything. Weasel ran over and hugged her chattering

"Aren't you excited too Sansa? A Fayre! There will be too many people there to count and there will be so many things to see and buy! Oh, I shan't sleep tonight because I'm so excited!"

"Well you'd better get to bed now and try!" Sandor said gruffly, but Sansa could tell he was trying hard not to smile.

"Ooh, yes I will! And I'll dream of cakes and stalls and more cakes!"

"Me too!" cried Baby and ran off behind her. Even Mycah seemed excited.

"Can I go and brush the horses so they'll look their best for tomorrow?"

Sandor smiled broadly and gave his consent for the lad to go, leaving the two of them alone. They could hear the two youngest children chattering excitedly in the loft, but it was the first time they had been almost alone since that first night.

"So will you wear your new dress tomorrow?" he asked.

Sansa though he sounded almost shy as he asked, certainly unlike his usual, gruff self.

"Yes I will." she replied enthusiastically. "I think I'm as excited about going as Weasel!" and she wasn't lying.

She was surprised he was prepared to let her out of her cage. Didn't he realise this was her opportunity to escape? She would find someone from the North, someone still loyal to the Starks who would take her home. She had thought about her family and Winterfell less and less, but she told herself that was only because she had been so busy with her work and the children. She had bided her time and it seemed as if tomorrow would, finally, be her opportunity to escape.

He seemed pleased that she was going to wear her dress and the two of them sat and talked about the children and the things they needed to buy. Sansa caught herself saying "_we_ need…" and "_we_ should get…" so many times she became embarrassed. It was even worse because every time she said 'we', she felt the need to apologise, saying "I meant _you need_ of course". He just smiled at first. She knew her face flushed scarlet every time and the more she blushed and the more often she forgot in her excitement and said "we", the more it amused him. Before long he was laughing at her. She found his laugh, a deep, throaty rumble, to be infectious and her genuine excitement about the next day that made her laugh too. They talked and laughed about everything and nothing. When Mycah eventually came back from the barn, her face was sore from smiling.

When Sandor stood up to retire to the barn for the night, he lingered longer than usual and she thought he seemed reluctant to go. He kept thinking of more things to discuss with her about the Fayre and, only when she started yawning with exhaustion caused by the evening's excitement, did he eventually leave, wishing her a good night's sleep. Despite her being so tired, sleep was slow to come as her head was filled with lists of things. But it wasn't only shopping lists keeping her awake, the memory of Sandor kneeling before her in the dark wood, vowing not to take her maidenhood, kept filling her head. Sometime in the night, somehow in her dream, when he knelt before her, he was naked and he was making her a very different promise.

-o-

The morning was warm and cloudless. For once, the children were up and awake before Sansa and ready to go before she had even dressed. As she put on her new white dress for the first time, she wondered if she had been wise to make the neckline so low. She hadn't realised she had got so brown and as the neckline was lower than her other dress, she had a white stripe of skin before the dress began, which was most unladylike. Normally she kept out of the sun, it not being appropriate for Ladies of high rank to turn the same colour as the small folk. Being tanned was acceptable for men and smallfolk, but not for one betrothed to the King on the Iron Throne. She realised she hadn't thought about Joffrey for a long time and that she was much happier for it. Whatever happened today, she would look back on her time spent with the children in the cabin as one of the happiest of her life. The thought of leaving the children, of never seeing them again, gave her a pain in her heart that she hadn't expected. But they must have known she was only ever going to be a visitor and she tried not to think about leaving them and brushed her hair until it shone.

She had been wearing her dragonfly necklace when she had fled King's landing. She put it on again now, wishing she had thought to flee with the necklace that Joffrey had given her. She could have sold that for more at the Fayre, perhaps enough to pay for her passage home.

Mycah had the two horses saddled, ready and waiting. He was hopping impatiently from foot to foot, while Weasel and Baby ran from the horses, to the cabin and back, excitement seeming to give their bare little feet wings.

Sansa walked out of the cabin just as Sandor came out of the barn, buckling his sword belt. The two of them stopped and stared at each other. She had forgotten how intimidating and lethal he looked in boiled leather jerkin and breaches with his great sword hanging from his hip. He seemed equally surprised by her dress, looking first at her breasts, then away, then at her breasts again. She wished she hadn't made the neckline quite so low and that she had something to wear over the top, but she had and she didn't, so she held her head high and walked towards him.

"Children - on the courser! Sansa, you ride with me, and I need you to wear this." He produced a long, narrow piece of yellow silk. She looked at it, puzzled.

"It's a blindfold, so you don't know where the cabin is – in case you try and escape" Weasel explained. "You wouldn't try and escape and leave us – would you?"

Sansa stumbled over her answer. She hated lying to the little girl, but she had to lie, otherwise Sandor would never let her go to the Fayre and she would never get her opportunity to escape.

"Of course not!" she lied, feeling her face flush and wondering if Sandor was convinced.

"Children leave first!" He barked the order, as if wearing a soldier's garb and sword changed his personality as well as his appearance. The three children helped each other climb onto the chestnut mare as Sandor approached her with the blindfold.

Sansa looked at him warily. The sword strapped to his hip gave him a menacing air she had almost forgotten he possessed. She was glad he wasn't wearing mail, as she didn't think she could have coped with that. He told her gruffly to get on the horse. She was about to do as he commanded when she remembered Dog. If all went according to plan, she would never see him again and suddenly she needed to say goodbye.

"Dog!" she gasped, turning and running to where he stood, tied to the cabin, watching them all leave with big, sad, brown eyes. She wrapped her arms around him. He smelled awful and she had previously made a point of never touching him unless she had to, but today was very different. She felt a lump in her throat as she hugged him and whispered 'goodbye' and tried to avoid having him lick the full length of her face. He started whining and trying to jump up on her as she stood up to leave. Sad to be leaving him or not, she didn't want big dirty paw prints on her dress, so she jumped back quickly.

She thought about saying goodbye to the chickens but Sandor was already looking at her as if she had taken leave of her senses. Bidding farewell to chickens would really have been ridiculous, but knowing she would never gather eggs again from those silly, squawky ladies in the morning made her unbelievably sad. Why didn't she feel ready to leave? Didn't she want to see Winterfell again? Was she scared of being free of her latest cage?

"Do you want to go to this damn Fayre or not?" Sandor barked at her as she dithered.

She trudged back to him with a heavy heart. Why hadn't she got up earlier to have a final look around? She wanted to see the waterfall one last time, but it was time to go.

Sandor let Sansa climb into the saddle. She didn't remember much of their ride from King's Landing and she wasn't used to such a large horse. She felt much further off the ground than was safe. Sandor swung himself up and positioned himself behind her on the magnificent destrier.

Sansa knew she was trembling and worried he would notice. She had gone from having no physical contact with him at all for two moons to now being able to feel his heat behind her and his huge, intimidating presence looming over her shoulder. The easy companionship of the night before had vanished and this morning and she was wary of him in. Despite the morning already being warm, she felt goose bumps cover her skin.

He was gentle as he tied the yellow silk firmly at the back of her head. Feeling him touch her hair, not being able to see what he was doing and then, not being able to see anything at all, was a very strange, very shocking, experience. He adjusted the silk over her eyes, making sure there were no gaps. Feeling his fingertips, rough and hard but at the same time warm and gentle touch her cheeks and forehead sent shivers all over her body. When she couldn't see, she felt she couldn't balance on the horse and grabbed at him behind her, desperate for something to hold onto, something to steady her. Her fingers found his leather encased thighs, her panicked fingers scrabbling over the slippery leather.

She heard him gasp; a deep, unfamiliar, masculine sound as her fingers sought purchase.

"I feel as if I'm going to fall!" she wailed.

"You won't fall. I've got you." He leant closer against her, so she would feel reassured by his presence behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist, resting his hand on her stomach, splaying his fingers wide to steady her while holding the reins with the other hand.

"Feel better now?" he asked, his mouth so close that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek.

"A bit" she gulped. "But I still don't like it."

"Well, you either wear the blindfold you don't go." He told her firmly. "You know you can trust me. I won't let you fall." He added more gently.

And she did trust him. She had trusted him the first night she had agreed to let him steal her away. She had ridden through the night with him, some of it asleep or in a faint in his arms and he hadn't let her fall then. Two moons spent with him had only deepened that trust. So she forced herself to relax and lean back against him. She almost immediately felt safer and steadier, feeling his warmth and strength envelop her, calming her shivering.

Once they were settled on the horse, had Sansa been able to see, she would have seen Sandor waving his hand in front of her face and, only when he was sure that she truly couldn't see, indicating to the children to get down from their horse. Sulkily, they did as they were told and led the courser mare back to the barn.

Unbeknown to Sansa, Sandor had prearranged with the children that he would take Sansa away blindfolded, double back and come for them again, in order that to make the distance to the village seem much greater than it actually was. The truth was that it could be walked in half a day and she could have fled there easily if she had known. He did not want to take the chance that she would find out.

As he let the destrier pick its own way through the trees, he could smell her musky scent, the freshness of her hair and, best of all; he had a magnificent view down the front of her dress. He could see the soft globes of her breasts spilling up from her corset and the deep shadow between them. His cock had woken up as soon as he had seen her wearing that white dress. He would never have believed she could have turned his cloak into that. The bodice was tight and low, very low. The skirt was made wide by all those petticoats she'd worn in King's Landing and the virginal white contrasted sharply with her nut brown skin and auburn hair. Since his first sight of her in the dress, he'd been imagining peeling her out of it. He was glad she was blindfold as he had a raging stiffness in his breeches that wasn't likely to disappear anytime soon, given the view afforded by his sitting behind her.

For a long while he amused himself with that view and the pleasure of being back on his horse, if not in the saddle. The sun was beginning to warm his back and he hoped the day would go well. Sansa was unusually quiet and the two of them completed the first part of the journey in silence. Eventually he wheeled his destrier in a great, lazy circle around a grassy field and headed back the way they had come. To him it was obvious that they were headed in the opposite direction as the sun was almost directly in his eyes now and no longer warming his back. He hoped she wouldn't realise what he had done.

As they neared the track through the woods to the cabin, he saw the children mounted again, waiting for them. They set of towards him and he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction; so far so good.

"I think we've caught up with Mycah" he remarked casually as the children shouted to Sansa and the two horses greeted each other. He stopped to let the children catch up.

"We've come far enough that I can remove this blindfold".

Sansa swayed slightly in front of him as he untied the silk. She blinked and seemed much happier now she could see, chatting happily with the excited children.

It was mid morning and they were nearly at the village by the time they met other travellers. The two magnificent horses would have attracted attention in any circumstances, but as the smallfolk stared, Sandor recognised that old, familiar look of shock and then disgust on the faces of the people they passed. At least they didn't point or shout. Most adults believed themselves too well mannered for that, preferring to wait until they thought he couldn't hear before discussing the horror they had just seen. Children were the ones who said what they thought. They were coming up behind a cart with at least a dozen children crammed in the back. Children in packs were even worse than children alone.

Before they could see him, he leaned down to whisper in Sansa's ear,

"Tell me again what _we_ need to buy Little Bird."

Sansa was startled by the suddenness of his request and the intimacy of his making it. His warm breathed tickled her ear and she gave an involuntary giggle. He didn't move away immediately as she expected, instead he kept his face close to her, close enough for her to feel his breath feather her face and neck. She shivered as her body reacted to the sensuality of having him so close. What was he doing to her and why?

It was only when she heard the group of children shout "Ginger! Ginger!" at Mycah, that she realised he was hiding his face.

**Next, it's definitely, the Fayre…**


	3. Chapter 3 - The Fayre

**CHAPTER 3**

**THE FAYRE**

**Again, I never intended this to be soooo long, but after splitting it already; I decided not to split it again. So here it is, all 11,400 words of it…**

When they arrived at the makeshift stabling for the horses, the stable hand gave a long, low whistle of surprise and admiration.

"A destrier and a courser! We don't get many of them round here."

The man ran his hand covetously over the destrier's shoulder as Sansa dismounted. That's a magnificent piece of horseflesh you've got there and you shouldn't be wasting that courser on children! A pony would do them! I know a man who'd give you 30 gold dragons for that mare and 100 for this stallion."

"And here's a man who'd pay you to hold your tongue and get on with your job!" Sandor snarled as he dismounted.

For the first time the stable hand looked up from the horse. His shock as he recognised The Hound was written all over his face.

"I didn't mean to offend you Ser! I should have realised a magnificent beast like this belonged to a Knight and a member of the King's Guard at that! Forgive me Ser!" the man grovelled, bending low.

"I'm no Ser and no King's Guard either." Sandor rasped. "Just attend to these horses. You'll pay with your life if they're not here when I return." The man hurried to obey.

Sansa was too concerned with speaking to Mycah, as quickly as possible, to scold Sandor for his manners, or lack of them.

"Don't let what those children said bother you! In The North your red hair is considered lucky. It's not _ginger_ – it's _kissed by fire_!"

Impulsively, she kissed the hair on the top of his head. His face turned as red as his hair.

"It didn't bother me – honest! Why should I care what a bunch of stupid children say?"

"I told them he had a horse to ride and they only had a smelly old cart between them!" Weasel chimed in

"And I stuck my tongue out at them!" Baby added proudly, not wanting to be left out.

"I think it's good that you both supported Mycah, but being rude back isn't the proper way to behave!" Sansa scolded Weasel and Baby.

"You should have got off your horse, dragged the little bastard out of his cart and given him the thrashing he deserved!" Sandor snarled at Mycah, having caught the end of their conversation as he strode over.

"No!" Sansa gasped, taken aback that Sandor would encourage Mycah to fight and set such a bad example to the two younger children.

"Violence always worked for me." he grunted as he turning on his heel and stomped off.

Sansa couldn't help noticing the way the crowd parted before him; the shocked or horrified looks on the faces of the people as he passed, then their whispers to each other as the crowd closed again behind him. Mycah and Weasel immediately ran off after him. Only Baby stayed with Sansa. He slipped his warm little hand into hers.

"I won't be bad again" he said plaintively, big, brown eyes looking up at her.

"Oh, you weren't bad! It's just that your Daddy and I have different ideas about how you children should behave, that's all." She stooped down and picked him up, resting him on her hip. All her annoyance and frustration disappeared as soon as he cuddled into her, chubby fingers grabbing onto her dress.

"You are such a good boy and, no matter what happens today, I want you to remember that. And that I love you very much."

Oh why did she have to say that! He cuddled into her contentedly and she felt tears welling in her eyes. What was he going to think when she left? For a moment she considered taking him with her, but she didn't even know how she was going to get home herself. She also knew that, while Sandor would try and bring her back if she ran, it was beyond certainty that he wouldn't rest until he got the little boy back. If she tried to take Baby, Sansa knew he would hunt her down and she did not want to imagine how terrible his wrath would be. There was no doubt he loved the children very much in his own way. He was demanding and rough and left the two little ones alone with Mycah for moons at a time, but he loved them as much as any real father and more than some. She wondered again, how Baby's father had been able to lie with his own daughter and how desperate that mother must have been to hand her baby over to stranger. A lump found it's way into her throat when she thought of the warm, loving, perfect child in her arms being thought of as 'an abomination'. How could a child carry a burden like that through its life? She cuddled Baby tighter.

She thought of her own dear father and how he died trying to protect her. Tears began to stream down her cheeks. She tried to quickly wipe them away on the back of her hand without Baby noticing, but a few tears plopped onto his nose. He looked up at her, big eyes filled with worry and concern as soon as he saw she was crying.

"Don't cry Mummy. I don't like it when you cry." He wailed, bottom lip trembling before he burst into tears himself.

His calling her 'Mummy' for the first time turned her tears to sobs. How could she possibly be his, or anyone's mother? How could she be as kind and strong and loving a mother as hers had been, when she could hardly look after herself? She lifted Baby higher and he wrapped his little legs around her waist and his arms around her neck. She buried her face in his warm little neck, breathing in his hot, comforting smell, between sobs. She couldn't see where she was going for the tears and had to stand still as he clung onto her as hard as she clung to him.

"But I'm not your Mummy" she sniffed "and you mustn't say that."

"But I want you to be!" he wailed.

The two of them stood, hugging and crying.

Sansa became aware of people walking around them and knew she had to move. She couldn't stand there crying all day and it wasn't fair for her to be upsetting Baby like this.

"Come on, we need to go and find your Daddy." She whispered into his ear. She felt him nod against her cheek. She blinked her eyes as hard as she could, in order to rid herself of her tears so she could see where they were going.

Sansa saw Sandor and Mycah in the distance. Even from so far away, she could tell Sandor wasn't happy. He was scowling, his arms folded across his chest. Surely there couldn't be trouble already? She ran to catch up, Baby clinging on and jiggling on her hip. He started giggling, enjoying the precarious ride.

As she approached, she could see Weasel tightly clutching a doll with a painted face.

"Put it down!" she heard Sandor order.

"But please!" the little girl wailed.

"Put it down!" Sandor repeated. He was almost shouting and she noticed a few heads turn their way, alerted to the fuss by his loud, gruff voice.

"Come on Weasel, let's see what else there is. This is only the first cart." Sansa tried to play peacemaker.

Sandor glared at her too.

"It doesn't matter what there is on any other cart. I don't have coin to waste on fripperies. Put the damn doll down!"

Finally realising she wasn't going to be able to persuade him; Weasel reluctantly laid the doll back on the cart. Sansa started to apologize to the woman standing by the cart, but she was staring at Sandor, obviously too terrified by his looks and his fierce attitude, to pay any attention to what Sansa was saying.

As Sandor stomped off again, Weasel looked up at Sansa, tears welling up in the little girl's eyes. Sansa didn't think she could stand any more crying today.

"It's just that I've never had a doll before and that one was so beautiful." Weasel sniffed.

All she could do was kneel down and cuddle Weasel, knowing that a hug was a poor substitute for a beautiful doll. Baby took one hand off Sansa's neck and stretched it around Weasel's. Although it made Sansa's heart swell to see Baby's thoughtful gesture, it didn't make Weasel any less miserable. Eventually Sansa had to drag her away from the cart and even so, Weasel stared longingly behind as Sansa pulled her along.

Not being able to see Mycah or Sandor, they wandered through the Fayre. There were carts and tables set up with all manner of goods; piles of bread and cakes smelled particularly inviting on one cart. All of their mouths watered as they walked, very slowly past. There were cages of squawking chickens, which Sansa hurried past, not wanting to be reminded of the chickens back at the cabin, bales of cloth, dried meats, and cheeses, exotic spices from Bravos and wines from the Arbor.

Sansa stopped and lingered by a cart selling all manner of decorative items, hair clasps and laces for bodices, fine woven belts and decorative sword scabbards. Baby and Weasel quickly grew bored, as Sansa fingered the wares. A puppy ran past, chased by a melee of squealing children. Weasel pleaded for Baby and her to be allowed to join the chase. Sansa agreed, yelling after Weasel to 'Look after Baby' as they ran off.

On the ride here she had planned, as best she could, how she would get back to Winterfell. It didn't help her plans that she had no idea where they were, other than it was a hard night's ride from King's Landing. She hoped Sandor had ridden north as, the further north they were, the more chance she had of finding help. Perhaps she thought hopefully, she might be recognised by one of her father's bannermen, or even one of the Tully's.

First, she needed to sell her dragonfly necklace at the Fayre. It was the only thing she had of any value. She hadn't realised her courser was worth as much as 30 gold dragons! That would surely be enough to see her home, but she realised sadly there would be no prospect of that stable hand helping her to sell the horse now – not after Sandor had threatened the man with his life.

Sansa waited anxiously for the other browsing customers to depart, so she could ask her question of the ruddy faced woman standing beside the cart.

"I have this necklace that I don't…don't want anymore." Sansa stammered, fingering the dragonfly around her neck. "Would you buy it from me?"

The woman eyed Sansa shrewdly.

"Not much market for pretty things like that here."

"Well, I just…I just… need rid of it." Sansa stuttered nervously. She had never bartered to sell anything before and was unsure how to proceed, but as this was the only stall selling similar items, she was determined to try and sell her necklace here.

"Sorry dear, jewellery isn't a good seller in war time." The woman turned away to rearrange her stock. Sansa's hopes fell.

"Please?" she begged.

"Got to feed those little 'uns of yours have you? Let's have a look at it then" the woman sighed.

Sansa unfastened the necklace and carefully handed it over. The woman's big, coarse hand emphasised the intricate metal work of the dragonfly and chain. Sansa had no idea how much it had cost, but it had obviously been made by a craftsman of great skill.

The woman pulled a face.

"I'd be doing myself a mischief to buy this off you. It'll be hard to shift and easily broken." The woman sighed "but if you've got babes to feed, I'll give you one gold dragon. Best I can do."

Sansa's face gave her disappointment away.

"I had hoped to get two" Sansa pleaded, actually having hoped for five.

"One and a half. That's my final offer."

Reluctantly Sansa agreed. That wouldn't get her far on the road to Winterfell. As the woman dug around in a leather bag for the coins, Sansa decided she had nothing to lose by asking for information or possibly help.

"How far is it to King's Landing from her?" Sansa asked, as if casually trying to make conversation.

"Two days maybe in a pony and cart." The woman shrugged.

Sansa thought of Sandor urging his horse on, flying through the night. One night's ride on a destrier, fleeing for your life.

"And which road takes you there?"

The woman looked at her as if she had lost half of her wits. "The Rose Road of course! Takes you straight there, but you don't want to be taking babes up there. I hear tell they're all starving up there 'cos of the war."

Sansa mumbled her thanks and turned away, her vague plan to find one of her father's bannermen in tatters. The Rose Road. They could be half way to Highgarden. She wouldn't find any friends of the Stark's or even Tully's down here. She should have guessed. The warm weather, fertile soil and no sign of the war that was ravaging the rest of Westeros should have been enough to give her a good indication of where she was. She walked on through the crowds of people, clutching her one and a half gold dragons. What to do now? Even if she knew the way, even if she stole her own horse back, she knew he would catch her before she reached King's Landing and that was the _last_ place she wanted to go. She would have to wait for Sandor to ransom her – if he ever did.

Impulsively she ran back to the woman at the cart.

"If I told you I was a daughter of Eddard Stark and I wanted to get back to Winterfell, do you know someone who would help me?" she gasped

"Everyone things they're a King or a Queen these days! Well, seeing as I'm Cersi Lannister myself, I should be able to find one of them Gold or White Cloaks around here somewhere!" The woman jeered "You got your money! Be off with you, you stupid girl, before I change my mind!"

Sansa stood, rooted to the spot, unable to decide what to do to do next. Should she try and convince the woman, but her back was already turned, talking to another customer.

From out of the crowd, Mycah suddenly appeared in front of her. She was startled out of her stupor. "Sandor wants you" he panted, having obviously been running to find her.

"How do you like the Fayre?" she asked the boy, to make conversation as they walked.

"Well enough I suppose." He shrugged. "But it reminds me of my parents and makes me want to go home." He sighed sadly. Sansa knew Mycah's father was a butcher and that Joffrey had ordered him killed for some slight. The Hound had been tasked with the job, but Sandor had taken pity on the boy and disobeyed Joffrey's command, breaking his King's Guard oath in the process. Everyone believed Mycah dead, including his parents. Sansa wondered if her mother now thought her dead too. Poor Mycah was in a similar position to herself; unable to return home and unable to do anything about it.

"But I'm looking forward to the puppet show!" Mycah grinned.

"Puppet show?" Sansa queried.

"Every Fayre has a Lord Punch! One show for the children and one for the adults. I'm hoping to see the adult's show this year!" Mycah declared proudly. Sansa had never heard of 'Lord Punch', much less seen him, but no doubt the children would enjoy it. She did wonder why there had to be a different adult's show though.

Mycah led her past jugglers and livestock pens and through the crowds until she could see Sandor, with a sack over his shoulder. Did his eyes really light up when they found her in the crowd, or was that her imagination?

"Where have you been? Soap, candles, salt, seed…" he rhymed off the long list of the things they had agreed they needed. He hadn't forgotten anything.

"Before I take this back to the horses. I want to buy some cloth."

"Cloth?" she wondered. They hadn't discussed that.

"Will you make something for the children and…something for me?" he asked hesitantly, looking first at her eyes, then seemingly unable to hold her gaze, at her chest.

She blushed and looked away. She had been aware of eyes on her all day; both men's and women's, staring at her breasts, too exposed. This village Fayre wasn't King's landing and she hadn't seen another bodice cut so low. It seemed Sandor had noticed too. She chastised herself again for getting carried away and making the bodice so low. She also felt rather ashamed at having made herself a new white dress, while the children we wearing little better than rags. She had washed and stitched their clothes, but they had been patched so many times before that it was hard to tell what colour they had originally been. All the other children seemed to be wearing their best clothes for the Fayre and her children looked like the least well kempt. Was it her embarrassment at her thoughtlessness making her feel flustered, or his staring and asking for her help?

"Of course." She nodded, blushing even more as he smiled at her when she agreed.

"I was thinking of yellow and black for…just… for the children." he stammered. She though it an odd choice, but then remembered the sigil for House Clegane was black against yellow.

"I think you'll need more yellow than black" she smiled. He grinned back; obviously delighted that she understood what he had meant. She found herself grinning up at him. Why did she find his smile so infectious? Every time he smiled she seemed to find herself being pulled into his happiness. Perhaps it was because he had never smiled at all when she had first known him at King's Landing; he had always been so angry and miserable. She had been so scared of him then. Even at the stables this morning, he had been scowling and threatening. Perhaps it was because she had still not grown used to his seeming to be happy or content. It still only happened rarely and fleetingly, but when he did smile, he instantly became less intimidating. He should smile more often she decided, she liked it much better than that angry scowl.

-o-

Sandor took himself back to the horses, to store their purchases, while the children dragged Sansa to the area in the centre of the Fayre where the puppet show was to be held. They all found a free area of grass and settled down to watch the show. Children and some adults were gathering and many were eating cakes and pies they had purchased or opening bundles of food they had brought with them. Sansa wondered why she had not thought, or anyone had told her to pack some food. Her stomach growled as she caught the delicious smell from a cloth bundle opened nearby. From the longing looks on the children's faces their stomachs were doing the same. A pie seller wandered around the edge of the crowd and impulsively she waved her hand, beckoning him over.

"Sansa! What are you doing?" Weasel hissed. "You have to pay for those!"

Sansa fished the half gold coin, as discreetly as she could, out of it her bodice – the only place she had thought of to carry her two coins safely and handed the warm coin to the pie seller, eagerly asking for "four please!" The children took the pies as she hid the coins she received as change in her bodice again.

All four of them munched contently on the rare treat as they waited for the show to start. Sansa could have had all the pies and cakes she wanted at Winterfell and King's Landing, but she couldn't remember one ever having tasted as good as this.

Sansa thought that every child and quite of few of the adults at the Fayre were sat on the grass waiting for the show to begin. Just as the crowd grew restless, a puppet appeared on the high stage. "Lord Punch" Mycah hissed.

The puppet's wooden face had an exaggerated, hooked nose and a pointed chin, curving upwards towards his nose. He wore a jaunty hat and bright clothes that gave him the jolly appearance of a fool. The children started cheering as soon as he appeared, swinging his long string of wooden sausages. He squeaked nonsense in a silly voice, but it took Sansa a while to realise that she wasn't supposed to understand what he was saying.

He danced and twirled and dropped his sausages to the generally merriment of the crowd. Another puppet appeared, this one holding a baby, (Sansa presumed this was supposed to be his lady wife) and seemed to be wanting Lord Punch to look after the baby as she kept throwing it to him and he kept dropping it. Sansa didn't find that very funny at all, but the children were guffawing with laughter and, as she looked around, everyone else watching seemed to be too, except Sandor. He stood head and shoulders taller than anyone else at the back of the crowd and she could easily see him standing, arms folded, stony faced. His eyes met hers and she looked away quickly, blushing again.

The puppets proceeded to shriek and carry on, every mishap or blow with the link of sausages causing much hilarity. Soon a dragon puppet appeared, causing some of the younger children, including Baby, to wail and clutch at their mothers in fear. The older children were shouting 'behind you' and 'Targaryen!' to Lord Punch, as he consistently failed to see the danger, hitting the dragon with his sausages as he turned, leaving his wife and the baby to almost be eaten, again and again.

Sansa didn't like the dragon either, or it's attempts to eat the baby and as she cuddled Baby to her, she wondered if it was more for her comfort or his. The two older children were laughing so hard tears were streaming down their faces and Sansa found more pleasure in watching them than the show.

Baby gradually overcame his fear, the safety of Sansa's arms making him brave enough to peak out from his safe hiding place in her bosom. He yelled "Daddy!" at one point, causing Sansa to look up in surprise, looking for Sandor, but there was knight in armour, come to rescue Lord Punch and his family from the dragon. Sansa, wondered what Sandor thought of the puppet knight, but when she looked to the back of the crowd, searching for his towering figure, he was gone.

After the show, as the crowd dispersed, the four of them wandered back toward the horses. Weasel and Baby were now yawning. All around them, sleepy children were being bundled up and off home as the sun went down. Sansa heard people say there would be dancing and drinking later, but the children's time at the Fayre seemed to be at an end. It wasn't long before Baby stumbled sleepily and Sansa had to carry him.

As they walked back, with the crowd towards the horses, Sansa saw the first cart, the one with the painted doll. The woman was packing everything away in sacks, no doubt to be transported to the next Fayre where another, little girl might buy that doll. Sansa looked down at Weasel, who had also seen the cart and was craning her neck to see if she could catch a final glimpse of the doll. To Weasel's surprise, Sansa stopped at the cart.

"The doll, with the painted face. Do you still have it?"

"Aye" the woman replied, smiling with recognition at Weasel. She fished around in one of the sacks and produced the doll. As Sansa produced her coins and the doll was handed to Weasel, the little girl could only gasp; for once lost for words.

"And something for the boys." Sansa heard herself say.

The woman fished around in another sack.

"I saw you eyeing these earlier." She chuckled to Mycah as she held out two, wooden practice swords. He looked at Sansa, eyes wide with surprise and also the desire to own the swords. But not wanting her to waste money that could be better spent on more practical things. He stammered

"No. I didn't…It's all right…. I don't..."

Sansa asked the price and handed over the coins. Mycah's face was beaming with happiness as he was handed the short swords.

"And for the baby…" the woman held out a wooden painted knight. Baby took it warily, but then clutched it tight to his chest, looking at it in wonder.

"And, for myself. Do you have any books?" Sansa asked.

The woman looked extremely surprised "You read?"

Sansa nodded.

"No, I'm sorry. I haven't seen one of those for a long time."

Sansa had hoped to find one to read to the children now she was returning to the cabin, but she was not unduly surprised. A Fayre for the smallfolk wasn't likely to be a fertile hunting ground for a book. She shrugged off her disappointment and enjoyed the wonderful smiles on the children's faces as they wandered back towards the horses, clutching their prized possessions.

Sandor was waiting for them at the horses. All three children excitedly showed him the things Sansa had bought them. Embarrassed by their overwhelming gratitude and also worried by what he might say about her buying such 'fripperies' she hung back before walking off a few paces to stroke his black horse's nose. She watched as Mycah proudly showed Sandor the wooden practice swords and smiled at the delight on Mycah's face when Sandor agreed to teach him. The only time he raised his eyes to look at her was when Baby showed him the wooden knight. She quickly looked away, but in the short moment when their eyes met, she saw a different expression there. One she couldn't quite understand.

The two youngest children excitedly told Sandor about the show, in between yawns, their tiredness eventually overcoming their enthusiasm. He smiled indulgently as he listened to them while helping first Weasel into the saddle on Sansa's chestnut courser then placing a very sleepy, Baby in front of her. Sansa watched him with Baby in his arms, Weasel still talking non stop from her seat on the horse and Mycah standing beside, protesting that he was no longer a boy, very nearly a man and should be allowed to stay and watch the dancing and the rest of the puppet show, but Sandor would have none of it.

Sansa was tired too and doubted the dancing would be up to the standard she was used to anyway. She would have been happier to go home with the children, expressing her concern's that the distance was too far for the children on their own and that the wolf that she had heard on her first night might come back, but Sandor dismissed her concerns as if they were nothing.

And so she stood with a heavy heart beside Sandor and watched Mycah's back as the children head home. Weasel was sitting in front of him with Baby, already nearly asleep. She hadn't been apart from them since she had fled King's Landing two moons ago and, watching them disappear down the dusty road, she was shocked to find that she missed them already and that she had an unexpected urge to run after them. Being with them gave her a deep, satisfying contentment she had never known before.

Sandor also seemed to be at his happiest when he was thinking of nothing but the children and she wondered if this was how her Mother and Father felt when they were young, before Robert Baratheon came to Winterfell and brought his war with him. Oh! She realised she had just compared Sandor and herself to her Mother and Father. Of course, their relationships weren't the same, as her Mother and Father loved each other deeply and that wasn't Sandor and her at all. She tried to rationalise her comparison. She presumed she had compared the situations because she and Sandor were _acting_ as parents to these children. But then, Sandor wasn't acting. Was she?

As she stood beside him in the evening light, she knew that, not only would this be the first time she had been apart from the children in two moons, it would also be the first time she would be alone with Sandor…

"I know what you did." He muttered, turning to her. She stiffened. Was he going to lecture her for buying the children what he said they couldn't have?

"Here!" he rasped, drawing the dragonfly necklace out of his leather jerkin. He held it gently, letting the chain run through his fingers.

"Turn around." He told her gruffly. She did as he ordered and he reached around, settling the dragonfly gently on her chest. She jumped as his fingers touched her, skin on skin sending unfamiliar feelings shooting all over her body. She tried to hold still, but her traitorous body shivered as his hand gently brushed her hair to the side, his fingers again briefly touching her skin. As his thick fingers fumbled with the delicate clasp, she could only stand and try to control her breathing, wondering if it was a sudden chill in the air that had brought goose bumps to her skin and made her teats harden against her dress.

"Thank you." Was all she could manage to mumble, being unable to look him in the eye as he turned her around.

He took hold of her arm firmly and guided her silently back across the field, now empty of carts and stalls, to one of the tables that had been set up in front of the puppet tent. He bought a skin of wine from a passing trader and poured them both a generous cup full. Sansa found herself irritated and angered by the trader's recoiling at the sight of Sandor's burnt face. She had grown accustomed to it herself now and barely thought about the scarring now. So it shocked her that the man could take Sandor's coin, while being so obviously repulsed by his face. She felt guilty when she remembered her own initial disgust. She had thought herself so mannered and polite, but she had hidden her revulsion no better than the wine seller and she felt ashamed that she had also judged him so quickly and easily because of his face. He had known how much his face had shocked and horrified her, and she felt a sudden need to apologize to him.

Sandor swallowed his wine in one go, while Sansa sipped at hers, feeling the sweet wine burn her throat and warm her insides, wondering when and how to start her apology. As Sandor poured himself another cup, she was suddenly scared he would get as drunk as he used to.

"Why do you drink so much?" she blurted out.

He stopped - his wine glass half way to his lips. He swirled the red wine around, looking thoughtfully into his cup, before clenching his jaw, grimacing and downing the second cup in one go.

"My Little Bird asks why I drink so much." He echoed her question as he pouring himself a third cup and topped hers up. He leant back in his chair, staring at her. She wanted to look away, run away even, feeling self conscious and vulnerable under his steely stare. His eyes bored into hers, as if searching for something there. He held his cup up to her, as if proposing a toast.

"To my unborn sons!" he rasped, before downing the third cup.

Sansa sipped from her own cup as she watched him, not understanding what he meant and scared by the sudden vehemence in his voice. They sat in silence for a while, with Sansa relieved he did not refill his for a fourth time.

Next time he spoke his voice was cold and unemotional again, as if the last outburst had never happened.

"I have to speak to a man, who only appears when it is dark. I want you to stay here while I talk to him and not leave this table. I will be watching you and I will find you if you run from me."

Although she nodded, she also blurted out

"Could I not come with you?" surprising herself by wanting to stay with him. She wondered if the wine might be clouding her judgement already.

"No" He sighed. "It will be better for us both if he doesn't see you."

Sansa tried to engage him in conversation about the Fayre and the children, but his replies were brusque, as if he was preoccupied with thoughts of the man he was anxious to meet.

In the fading light, Sansa could see Bonfires being lit at strategic points around the edges of the crowd. A serving girl bustled around, placing fat candles on each table. Wine sellers, pie sellers and other traders wandered through the crowd, plying their wares. With the children gone, Sansa notice the atmosphere had become more raucous. Although it was not yet fully dark, with their business at the Fayre and market done, many of the farmers and tradesmen seemed to be well into their cups already. The calls to the serving girls for wine were becoming louder and more frequent.

As the last of the evening light faded, Sandor leaned towards her and muttered

"It's time. Remember what I said. Don't try and run away from me Little Bird as you know I _will_ find you" before standing up quickly and striding off into the crowd.

Sansa strained her neck to try and see the man he was meeting, but although she could see Sandor's tall form clearly enough at the edge of the crowd, he soon stepped out of the circle of fire light and into the darkness, where he was lost to her. She wondered if he was still watching her as he had claimed he would be.

A handsome youth, not much older than Sansa herself was wandering through the crowd, playing his harp and singing songs for payment. Sansa had seen him earlier and hoped he wouldn't approach them, as she knew Sandor would have no interest in requesting a song. However, immediately Sandor left her, the minstrel made his way through the crowd, directly to her, as if he had been watching and waiting for such an opportunity.

Tucking his wooden harp under his arm, he gently took one of her hands in both of his and, smiling lasciviously at her, pressed his lips to the back of her hand before introducing himself.

"Marillion, at your service Milady." He had a wonderful, sonorous voice that was full of mischief and merriment. Sansa blushed. She had no doubt such a charming, handsome singer would be welcome at any Lord's castle.

"I am sorry but I have no coin to pay for a song Ser Marillion" Sansa apologised, feeling her cheeks flush under his constant gaze.

"In that case, I will sing you a song for a cup of your wine!" and without waiting from answer, Marillion filled both cups and handed one to Sansa, holding his own cup, or Sandor's cup to be accurate, to her in a toast.

"To the most beautiful woman at the Fayre!" he declared, holding up his cup, eyes twinkling with amusement as she blushed scarlet.

"Oh, you jest Ser Marillion. I wish I was worthy of your compliment." Sansa looked down at her rough, red hands, clasped around the cup, wanting to hide them from him.

Marillion drained his cup and filled it again, all the while his eyes never leaving hers.

"Good Ser, I think you have had sufficient payment for your song" she spluttered nervously, worrying about what Sandor would say if he returned to find the wineskin empty, if he wasn't already striding over to send this singer on his way.

Marillion put down his cup and picked up his harp, strumming it softly.

_I loved a maid as white as winter_

_with moonglow in her hair_

_and love was kind, well for a time_

_It now just aches and makes me blind._

_For her father tore us apart_

_Left me with my bleeding heart_

_The moon still shines upon her_

_But I've been travelling on, so long, so long._

Marillion ended his sad song with a flourish on his harp and sat down beside her, resting one hand on her thigh and his other, covering her own hand on the table, making it impossible for her to get up and leave.

Sansa shuddered, suddenly feeling trapped and helpless. Although this man had seemed charming, he was too familiar by far.

"Ser, my…husband… will be back shortly and you had best leave before he returns."

She tried to say it firmly, but the tremble in her voice was obvious to them both.

"Then let us leave together for a short while and he need never know. You will not regret the time you spend with me" he leant in close to her as he whispered in her ear. "I have a silver tongue." He murmured, before slyly licking the skin from her jaw to behind her ear. Sansa shivered, wondering if Sandor was watching as he promised and if he had seen what Marillion had done to her or if he would assume it was only a whispered conversation. Thinking her only hope was to scream in the hope Sandor heard her, she tensed, but before she had an opportunity to execute her plan there was a rough bellow from behind them.

"Oi! Minstrel! Oi! You over there! Is your name Marillion?!"

Marillion turned sharply and, seeing the burly man making straight for him, he jumped up and murmured to Sansa "Until the next time we meet, my winter maid" with a grin, before running off in the opposite direction to the advancing man.

"Oi! Somebody stop him! He got a bastard on my daughter last time he was here! Oi you! Marillion! Come back here!"

But the minstrel was already away, disappearing easily into the crowd while the disgruntled father stumbled through the tables after him.

Sansa took a large gulp of her wine to steady her trembling nerves as a small, skinny man appeared from behind the puppet stand and, holding out his arms, shouted to get the audiences attention

"Lords and Ladies!" he yelled. That brought sniggers and a few guffaws from the audience.

"Ain't none of them here! Get on with it!" some bold drunkard shouted from the crowd.

"Now for the other half of our show. Please show your appreciation at the end!"

The small man disappeared into his stripy tent and soon Lord Punch appeared again with his wife and baby, but this time he had no string of sausages, but rather, a stick with which to beat his wife and baby. Sansa had to avert her eyes.

Suddenly the crowd's laughter turned to cheers and whistles and, despite herself, Sansa's eyes were again drawn to the show, where she was shocked to see a new puppet being chased around by Lord Punch, while his Lady wife tried to hit the newcomer with the stick. This puppet was a maid with scarlet lips and red hair, and Sansa was horrified to see she had huge wooden teats sticking straight out from her chest, their tips painted scarlet like the puppet's lips and below them a white dress much like her own. Sansa was horrified by the awful coincidence of the white dress and the red hair. She gulped more wine nervously, feeling embarrassed by her dress and feeling judgemental eyes upon her. She wished Sandor would come back, but still could not see him anywhere.

Lord Punch suddenly revealed a short, thick wooden stick, poking out from his breeches. This caused much hilarity amongst the audience. At first Sansa thought it was supposed to be a sword, but it was painted purple, with a red tip, and it eventually dawned upon her that this was no sword. It was his manhood, an exaggerated representation of what she had seen when Sandor had bathed under the waterfall and touched himself. She flushed at the memory and just as it had then, the thought of Sandor naked and touching himself, made the mound at the top of her own legs ache to be touched also.

Lord Punch proceeded to chase the maid around with the thing in his breeches, while his Lady wife tried to beat it down with the stick. Sansa had never seen anything like this before and knew her face was flushed with the effects of the wine and embarrassment, but still she could not tear her eyes away. She was learning more from a puppet show than she had ever learned from Septa Mordane or from other ladies. She followed the show as if in as stunned trance.

Lord Punch was trying to lift up the maid's skirts with his wooden manhood and the more he tried and failed, the more the audience laughed. Drunken voices were shouting bawdy comments. Sansa had never heard most of the expressions before, but could guess at their meanings. She watched, fascinated, wondering how the show would end.

Eventually the knight reappeared and this time he also had a thick, wooden stick in his breeches and without much chasing, the wife fell upon it and the puppets were jerking and bumping together in a strange, violent fashion. The audience were now hooting with laughter.

With his wife otherwise engaged, Lord Punch finally managed to lift up the maiden's skirts and then the two puppets jerked together as the puppeteer made all sorts of ungodly panting and gasping sounds. Still Sansa could not look away, while the audience hollered and laughed at the antics of the puppets. Eventually the jerking stopped and two more babies were thrown onto the stage, as the audience howled with laughter. The curtain fell and the four puppets came out to give a little bow, before, quickly, both of the puppeteers, ran to the front of their stage, holding out hats to collect the coins given by an appreciative audience.

Sansa shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hoping that the puppeteers wouldn't approach her for a coin. But she knew it wasn't just the desire not to waste a coin making her uncomfortable, she felt a heat between her legs that, somehow, badly needed to be attended to. Crossing her legs together and sipping her wine, she wished that Sandor would return. She wondered if she could tell him about the puppets and perhaps she could invite him to touch himself like he had before, so she could listen to shout her name over and over.

Shocked, that she was actually contemplating asking him such a thing, she tried to think what her Septa and her mother would have said about her wantonness, but right now, she cared more about the aching heat in her small clothes than what her mother _might_ one day say to her _if_ she ever found out.

She sipped her wine more quickly as the crowd began to rise from their seats and, seeming to act with a common purpose, some pulled the tables back, and some helped clear the puppet stage away, while others fed the bonfires on the periphery. There was still no sign of Sandor. A troupe of brightly dressed musicians began to gather at the side of the cleared area and Sansa presumed the dancing would start soon. She had attended dances many times before, but never in the open, under the stars, with no Lord and Lady presiding over the dance from their High Table.

While the musicians tuned their instruments and spoke together, a few couples who were obviously the most anxious to dance, began to gather on the open area. Sansa watched a nervous maiden grip onto a young man's hand and an older man and woman, who were so far into their cups that they could not stand without swaying, clutching onto each other for support.

She was so busy watching the impatient dancers, looking for Sandor and drinking her wine, that she didn't immediately notice an expensively dressed, older man slide into the seat beside her. She jumped when she finally noticed him grinning at her, showing off a mouth of yellow teeth and reeking of sour wine.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doing on your own tonight? I could show you a good time, could even give you some coin if you show me those teats." He leered.

Sansa was too shocked to answer him, her heart hammering with fear. Oh where was Sandor? He said he would be watching and he had been away for ages. Memories of the mob at King's Landing flooded back to her and she felt the same waves of panic feeling of helplessness overcome her. Sandor had saved her then, where was he now?

As if that wasn't bad enough, a younger man lurched over and put his hand on the older man's shoulder

"She don't want an old fuck like you!" he taunted his companion.

"A pretty bit of stuff like her wants a young man that can go all night long. Ain't that right pretty thing?"

"No, no, you're both wrong. I'm…I'm waiting on my husband and he'll be very angry if he returns to find you talking to me."

"Husband she says!" The younger one sneered.

The Gods must have heard her silent prayer, as, just when the thought that screaming was all she could do if she hoped to save herself, she saw him, on the far side of the makeshift dance floor, tall and broad silhouetted against the darkness, deep in conversation. Clutching up the wineskin, she darted up from the table and ran to him. Gathering up her skirts, she ran across the clearing, not caring who she crashed into as she headed straight to him, terrified to look behind. As she got nearer to him and the crowd around the dance floor was harder to run through, her pace was slowed and fearing they were almost upon her, she screamed his name. He startled and looked around desperately for her as she fought her way through the crowd to him, falling into his arms as he ran towards her.

"What's wrong?" he urged, concern etched on his face

Sansa turned, searching the crowd behind her, looking for the faces of the two men. Suddenly the younger one burst through the crowd, eyes wild with lust. Realising immediately what had happened; Sandor was already drawing his sword. Seeing the size of Sansa's 'husband' the man turned and ran, immediately disappearing back into the crowd. Sandor made to follow him, but Sansa, stopped him in his tracks

"Don't leave me again!" she wailed as she clung onto him.

"Did he touch you? If he did he's a dead man!"

"No, I…I just didn't like the way he was talking to me."

"I won't leave you again" he vowed, sliding his sword back in the scabbard that hung at his side. "I didn't mean to leave you for so long, but there's news from King's Landing."

Sansa paled, but before she could ask for details, the drummer on the makeshift dance flower, banged his instrument in a loud, sustained burst and a man stood on a chair beside the band

"News from King's Landing! News from King's Landing!"

The bawdy crowd instantly fell silent.

"King Joffrey is dead!" There were assorted gasps from the audience, too many cheers to count and a few shouts of "He got what was coming!" and even "Targaryen!"

The man who had made the announcement waited for the fuss to die down before continuing

"His brother Tommen Baratheon, the First of his Name, now sits upon the Iron Throne!" there were a few cheers, but more groans and mutterings.

"And Tywin Lannister is the Hand of the King!" this news was met with outright boos, jeers and more cries of "Targaryen!"

Sansa looked to her protector in stunned silence.

"You are free of the boy now. He can't hunt you or hurt you now Little Bird."

Sansa sagged with relief, only the fact that she was still clinging onto Sandor's arm stopped her from collapsing altogether.

"And what about you?" she whispered

"Hopefully be forgotten. I have no doubt there are more pressing matters for the Hand than the whereabouts of the dead King's Hound" Sandor snorted ruefully "But it means Mycah can go home." He smiled, but the smile was definitely tinged with sadness.

"And how did he die?" Sansa gasped, now feeling such relief that she wanted to cheer with the rest of the crowd.

"They say poison and that's a woman's way, but who knows? He wasn't short of enemies, and made more by the day I'd wager."

The man on the chair was now proposing a toast to the new King.

"I'll drink to that!" rasped Sandor gruffly, grabbing two cups from a tray carried by a passing servant girl passing and filling them from the wineskin Sansa had brought with her.

"To The King!"

"_In the North_" Sansa added under her breath, before draining her cup almost as quickly as Sandor. It seemed she wasn't the only one who wished another sat upon the Iron Throne.

A man stood up and shouted an alternative toast to the crowd

"To the Dragon Queen across the water!"

This met with many more cheers, clapping and enthusiastic draining of cups. Sandor again refilled theirs and smirked

"And I'll drink to that too!" He downed his wine while Sansa stared at hers.

"Dragon Queen?" she wondered.

"They say Daenerys Targaryen has raised an army across the narrow sea. As you see, many smallfolk think anyone sat upon the Iron Throne who isn't a Targaryen a usurper and would like nothing better than Dragon rule again in Westeros." Sandor rasped.

"To Hell with them all!" he jeered.

"Oh." Was all Sansa could say, her head beginning to swim with the wine, relief and all this talk of Kings and Queens.

The band began playing and the empty space was immediate filled with couples, and some drunken revellers who didn't feel the need for a partner. This was no choreographed, sedate dance of the type Sansa had grown up with. This was a wild, uninhibited expression of feeling to the music. No two dancers were following the same steps, even some of the couples looked as if they were engaged in competing dances. The eager young couple she had watched earlier on galloped around the floor, him pulling her with him and twirling her around at seemingly random moments, while she shrieked and squealed and laughed. Sansa longed to be that carefree.

A sudden urge to dance overtook her. She drained her cup and grabbed Sandor's two hands.

"Dance with me!"

He looked at first delighted that she had grabbed his hands, then wary of her request.

"No." he muttered, frowning down at her.

"Oh, but I want to dance! Please?" She wanted to dance, to loose herself in the music and forget all about the past. She only wanted to think about the moment, the music, the night, the here and now.

A sudden impulse overtook her and she stood on her tip toes and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

The look of complete shock on his face made her laugh.

"Dance with me!" she ordered, giggling at her boldness. She had never dared speak to him, or to anyone, like that before.

"I can't dance. I never learned." He groaned, wishing in that moment, more than ever, that his life had been different, that he hadn't been burned and that he might have learnt to dance and enjoy the things whole men did.

"Well, I never learnt to dance like that either! Look at them all, you just do what you feel. Come on!" she dragged him by both hands and although he could have easily resisted her, he didn't and allowed him self to be pulled into the middle of a thrashing swirl of bodies. The two of them stood there for a few minutes; her looking up at him, eyes shining expectantly and him, wary, still reeling from her kissing him and unsure what to do next.

A spinning couple bumped into them and he staggered slightly from the impact, Sansa seized her moment, pulled him with her and they were off. This dancing couldn't be compared to anything she had done before, this was clinging on to him as he spun around and they staggered along together amongst all the other dancers. She felt wild and free and threw her head back, letting him support her and feeling the wind in her hair as she spun. She felt the urge to shout and she didn't fight it, yelling "I'm free!" at the top of her voice but it was carried away in the mêlée, but perhaps Sandor heard as he was grinning, his face and eyes lit up with happiness, like she had never seen before.

He watched one man swing his partner clumsily up in the air and laugh as she shrieked with surprise and pleasure. He wanted to make Sansa shriek like that, so he copied what he saw, swinging her easily up and holding her waist to his chest as he twirled her around. She threw her head back, letting her auburn hair swing out behind her and laughing and giggling as she went. Fearing he was going to fall over, he gently set her down on her feet and she grabbed into him, feeling as if she might fall too.

"Oh that was wonderful! I want to dance like this for the rest of my life!"

For a moment their eyes met; Sansa, realising she had implied she didn't want to go back to Winterfell and him wondering, hoping that she meant she wanted to dance with _him _for the rest of her life. Both of them embarrassed, they danced again, but this time more slowly and he kept his hands around her waist and she held on to his arms. When he lifted her up this time, he turned around slowly, watching her, his eyes never leaving hers and her's never leaving his. When he went to set her down, he lowered her slowly and as there faces were level, she kissed him again, but this time it wasn't a quick impulsive peck on the lips, this was a slow, longed for, lingering kiss. She kissed him passionately and he returned it with as much feeling and more, still holding her up, but clasping her tightly to him, feeling her heart beat against his and loosing himself in the moment. He couldn't have said if the music stopped or if they were the only couple on the floor, he was so lost.

Eventually she wriggled and he set her down.

"Take me home Sandor." She whispered, taking his hands and pulling him away with her.

They stood beside the row of the tethered horses, his destrier, looming blacker and larger than all the others in the moonlight.

"Don't make me wear that blindfold again. Please? I think I might be sick or fall off if you do" she pleaded.

He looked at her warily; still stunned by what had happened, but unsure if he wanted to take the risk of her finding out just how close their cabin was to the village.

"I have an idea" she giggled.

As he stood, holding the reins, Sansa pulled herself up into the saddle, so she was facing backwards.

"Look! I won't be able to see where we're going!" she said, obviously delighted with herself. "Come on!" she patted the saddle in front of her.

He thought it worth a try and mounted his horse. It soon became apparent that there wasn't enough room for them both on the saddle and, to his amazement and extreme pleasure; she lifted herself up so that he could sit in the saddle while she straddled his crotch, facing him, the bare, warm skin of her inner thighs clamped over his breeches, her breasts about level with his chin. She placed her hands gently around his shoulders.

"See!" she giggled triumphantly.

He gave his horse the command to walk on and the two of them quickly settled into a rhythm, Sansa bumping wonderfully against his crotch. Neither of them spoke for a while, enjoying the pleasure of each other's warmth, their new found physical ease in each other's company and the silent, starry night. Sansa broke the silence first.

"I don't think I want to wear this dress in public again." She whispered.

"I don't think I'll let you." He snorted. All day he'd greedily eyed the soft, golden globes pushed up from the tight bodice and he suspected every other man had been doing the same. Even now, in the moonlight, he thought the shadow between them was a place a man could lose himself for the rest of his life and never care to return.

"A man offered me a coin if I would show him my teats." Sansa confided. At the time, it had been anything but funny, however now, safe in his arms, she felt secure enough to test his reaction to another man's desiring her.

Sandor gave an involuntary jerk on the reins, causing his destrier to stop dead. He fought back the anger that had just exploded in him. That man who had chased her through the crowd? He knew he should have followed him. How _dare_ another man make such a suggestion! He cursed himself for leaving her alone, when he knew the effect that dress would have had on the men at the Fayre, for he had been affected by the same base urge to see her teats himself. He cursed himself again for being such a fool. Feeling Sansa tense in his lap, and not wanting to ruin the magic of the night, he tried to calm his thoughts and his rage. Wheeling his warhorse around and cleaving the man's skull in half might temporarily ease his pain, but wouldn't endear him to the locals, or even to Sansa. He didn't want her to ever see that violence - his past.

"Only one coin?" he joked, trying to make light of the situation and hide his anger. "The man's an ass. For that I would pay all the gold in Casterly Rock."

She looked up at him, eyes wide and questioning in the moonlight. Had he overstepped the mark? Offended her with such a crude remark?

Sansa cast her eyes down quickly and he panicked. Just when he felt he had finally gained her trust, when she no longer seemed to see him as her jailor, when they had both relaxed enough in each other's company to enjoy themselves as man and woman. Just when he believed that perhaps she might be beginning to feel the same way about him that he felt about her. He had said too much, pushed to hard,

"Sansa I…"

But she wasn't about to cry or run, instead she was undoing the laces of her bodice, freeing those wondrous breasts that he had imagined himself the master of since he'd first laid eyes on her.

"You…you don't have to do this…" he stammered, desperately hoping she would continue, but not wishing to force it upon her.

She smiled coyly up at him.

"But I want to. I've wanted to since I saw you touching yourself underneath the waterfall."

He couldn't find any words to justify what he had done or to cover his shock at her admitting she had watched him. As he had watched her.

Now her milky breasts, shining like moonstones, teats hard in the cool night air, were revealed for him alone, demanding his attention and he joyfully worshiped them. First he cupped them gently, as if he were holding the most precious jewels on earth. Marvelling at the softness of her cool skin, he slowly rubbed his thumbs over her hard, dark nubs, feeling them crinkle and grow under his touch. She groaned softly; the most wondrous sound he had ever heard. She arched her back, offering up her breasts to him and the moon.

He snaked one hand behind her shoulders, to support her as he eased her further back, angling her body so he could take each teat in turn into his mouth. Sucking and licking gently at first. Then, encouraged by her high little cries and moans, knowing that it was _him_ bringing forth such sounds from her, he became bolder, pulling on her teats with his lips and then gently with his teeth, all the while massaging them firmly with his free hand.

Arching her back caused her thighs to lift and tighten around his hips, as she steadied herself on the saddle, white dress riding up, burying the straining laces of his breeches, in flowing material.

Eager for more and driven almost beyond control by her hot little cries, he let her breasts alone for now and straightened her up, pulling her in towards him with the hand behind her back, still holding the reins. He dropped his free hand down past his knee, until he found the end of her dress and then ran his fingers from her calf upwards. Her smooth, slim thigh shone like alabaster in the moonlight, exposed as he pushed her homemade dress and her petticoats up, seeking his final goal. He couldn't work his fingers under her small clothes, which were trapped tightly under her and he grunted in frustration, having to abandon that treasure hunt meantime and make do with rubbing her clit through the stiff cotton.

The first time he touched her there, she jerked, moaning his name. This emboldened him and he thrust the fingers of that hand between her thighs, between saddle and smallclothes, until his thumb was in position over her clit and his fingers reaching down to her cunt. Although the cotton thwarted him, it was unmistakably wet with her desire _for him_. Her gasps and moans as he gently circled his thumb on her clit and worked his fingers over her, now sopping wet, smallclothes, were as wanton as any whore he had ever fucked. Sandor knew how to pleasure a woman, but years had passed since he had last bothered, preferred instead to slake his lust as quickly and mechanically as he could, in order to minimise the time he had to bear the furtive glances or the outright disgust of the whores as they looked upon his face.

But his Little Bird didn't look at him like that and there had been more passion in that one kiss tonight than he had received from a hundred whores. He wanted to return that gift tenfold. To hell with the deception about their location! He wanted, needed, to get her back as quickly as he could and he kicked his heels to his horse's flanks and held his Little Bird tight to his chest as the mighty war horse galloped off towards home. _Home._

"Sandor" she gasped against his shoulder "Don't sleep in the barn tonight. I want you to…touch me."

He had to close his eyes, trusting his destrier to carry them true. How he had longed for an invite to share her bed, yet he was afraid that if he looked at her, if she saw past his ruined face, she could look into his eyes and see the lifetime of rage and hate and killing. If she could see all that, then the spell would be broken and she would reject him, as everyone else had.

"You know that if we lie together you can never go back." He ached as he whispered those words to her, but he owed her his honesty. How could he ever let her go back, if she gave herself freely to him? But there was the other question of whether the Starks would take her back. A daughter, no matter how loved, soiled by The Hound would be an unwelcome embarrassment to the Northmen. He wondered if she truly realised what she was about to give up for him.

"I don't ever want to go back if it means leaving you and the children".

He thought his heart might burst with relief and joy. He kissed the top of her head as he hugged her to him and then her forehead and finally her soft, pillow lips as she lifted her face to his. Could that be love shining in her eyes? He dared to hope, before he closed his own eyes again, losing himself in her kisses, which were returned to him with as much tenderness and desire as he had given.

-o-

He lifted her down from his horse, urging her to go and wait for him in their bed, while he quickly attended to the destrier.

The horse fed and watered, he ran the short distance from the barn to the cabin, and had to stop himself running to her bed, for fear of waking the children. She hadn't closed the door and his heart raced and his balls tightened as he paused there, watching her through the half open door, sitting on his bed in the flickering golden candle light, brushing her auburn hair and humming softly to herself. As he watched her, with the children sleeping in their loft above his head, he knew _this_ was everything he had ever wanted.

He slowly pushed the door open and, seeing the shy smile on her face and the welcome in her eyes as she turned around, made him wonder if this could possibly be real. He had abandoned his hope long ago that he could have the wife and children that ordinary, undamaged men, saw as their right. Was this some trick of the Gods, to punish him again for his sins?

Closing the door gently behind him, he kneeled before her, taking her hands in his. She smiled down at him, her bodice still unlaced from their ride, eyes sparkling and hair shining, tumbling over her shoulders, partially hiding her breasts from him. He was trembling with his need for her, but he still had to make his confession

"I…Sansa I…need to tell you…"

She smiled and gently kissed his mouth, silencing him.

"Shhhh, it doesn't matter. I have made my decision and I choose you Sandor. I need you and I want you take what's freely given tonight."

She kissed him again, but harder this time, conveying her own urgent need for him. He forced himself to break away. He had to explain

"I have never _made love_ to a woman and I want you understand if I do not…do not please you my love."

"You are a maiden?" she gasped.

He flushed.

"Alas, I am no maiden. I have… had many women, but their company I always bought and paid for. Until you came and…"

"Saved you? Saved you as you saved me?"

"Yes my love."

There was no need for words again that night.

**Next, and last, The Tourney…**

It will be a few weeks though as I _have_ to get back to my Gendry Werewolf story. Might write some modern Sansa in that though – now I'm inspired. And, ok, I'll describe their night in the next chapter, but I'm at 11,000 plus words already. Phew! Had to stop there.


	4. Chapter 4 - Five perfect lemon cakes

**Chapter 4**

**Five perfect lemon cakes**

**Finally! This one is for everyone who had to wait…and wait…and wait. I can only apologize for the delay. I should never have stopped as, having left the Cabin in the Woods to write about my modern Wolf Lords; it was too hard to return. The Wolves having now been laid to rest, I can revisit Sansa and Sandor the morning after The Fayre… **

Sansa woke up as the first pale grey light of the dawn seeped into the room. She felt delightfully warm and _naked_. She had never slept without nightclothes on before and it felt very strange and surprisingly thrilling to feel rough sheets against bare skin

She could feel his breath, hot and steady on her shoulder and feel his hard, warm thighs tight against her own. She tingled with excitement as she thought of last night and her having slept naked with a man. She closed her eyes again as she wanted to memorise every single thing that had happened on the most magical night of her life.

First there had been the wild dancing that had made her feel so uninhibited and free. Nobody knew who she was and expected nothing of her. For once, she was free to do as she wanted and she had wanted to kiss him. Where had she got the nerve to do that? She couldn't stop herself wriggling with embarrassment and excitement as she remembered the look on his face after she had planted that first kiss on his lips; shock at first, then a kind of wonder as if the most amazing thing had just happened to him. She had felt it too and, by the second kiss, she knew she was well and truly lost. And then …_oh dear_. She had to bite the back of her hand to stop herself from giggling. Not only had she kissed him, but she had made him ride back with her on his lap (not that he had objected at all – quite the opposite, but it had been very much her idea.) She tingled with pleasure as she remembered straddling him and his hands roaming over her thighs and higher. Then she had unlaced her dress and bared her breasts to him in the moonlight. She had to bite down on her hand again. _Oh Sansa Stark! When did you become so wanton? _

As she asked herself the question, she already had the answer – it had started that first night when she was lost in the wood, when he had kneeled before her and vowed he was no raper. It had grown when she saw him working without his shirt on, become stronger when she saw him sit Weasel and Baby on his knees and she had finally realised the extent of her feelings for him when she saw him touch himself under the waterfall and heard him shout her name at the peak of his desire.

A thousand little thing had happened since he carried her off, making her realise all the other boys she had ever met or once dreamed she might marry, paled in comparison to this man who was everything she needed. Only he could make her want to spend the rest of her life in a little cabin in the woods.

She let out an involuntary sigh of contentment and he responded with a deep groan of his own, his big, rough hand fumbling for her hip and sliding down until it rested at the top of her legs, fingers gently stroking her…her what? Last night he had called it her _cunt_. It wasn't a word she had ever heard before and it sounded naughty and dangerously exciting when she whispered it to herself now. She didn't know what else to call it; 'the mound at the top of her legs' no longer seemed enough for what he had shown her lay there, hidden behind curly auburn hair, unknown and untouched until he had opened her up and made her gasp and pant and _explode_ with his tongue and his knowing fingers. Already she longed for him to do it again, to never stop doing it, but she also wanted _more_.

Sansa was naive but she certainly wasn't stupid. She knew from the surreptitious glances she had snatched at rutting farm animals when her Septa wasn't looking that the male's rod had to be buried in the female. "Rod" – there was another word that just wouldn't do. Sandor had said 'cock_'_; cock and cunt. She silently rolled the unfamiliar words around her mouth. Yes, they would do – _his cock in her cunt_. That was what she wanted, what she had expected he would do last night, only he hadn't and she wasn't sure why. She had told him her maidenhood was freely given. Four times he had made her convulse and shudder with feelings she couldn't put a name to and had no idea what to do with. Four times he had spilled his seed on her belly or her teats as he grunted and his cock pulsed between them, each time his black eyes boring into hers with an intensity that made her heart and her empty cunt contract with longing.

After the third time, she had lain spent and exhausted, almost falling into a delicious, warm slumber beside him, before his heavy hand, draped over her stomach had moved again, roaming down, on it's now familiar quest. For a fourth time he pressed his lips to the hard nub at the top of her legs, that she hadn't known existed before but now felt as if it was her very centre. He had sucked greedily at it and flicked it with the tip of his tongue. One thick finger curled inside her cunt, stroking her, as if beckoning for her to 'cum' – another word he had taught her last night. For a forth time she had trembled with a need she couldn't explain, desperate for the release that only he could bring. As he wound her tighter she knew that, as wonderful as the release would be, it would be better still if his cock was inside her cunt, where she instinctively knew it belonged.

She had reached for it then, wrapping one hand around its substantial girth, feeling it throb, hard as iron, yet still warm and full of life under her hand. She had tried to pull him towards her empty cunt, aching with a longing to be filled, a basic need that stretched back to the beginning of time, a need that surely burned as brightly in the first men and women as it did in her now. But he had groaned and resisted, pulling away. She remembered her whispered plea, "please Sandor, please…" and he had trembled, clenching his jaw and looking at her in a way that told her it took every bit of strength he had to resist her, but still he had denied her.

Now she turned over, slowly and carefully, trying not to wake him, wanting to watch him sleep. He was lying on his side, the burned half of his face hidden in the pillow. His eyes were closed, strands of black hair falling across his face, long dark eyelashes she had never noticed before giving him a peaceful, almost innocent air. His shoulder was uncovered and she longed to trace the solid muscles of his shoulder, his arm and his chest with her finger, or better yet her tongue. How could she ever have thought him repulsive and how had she become so lustful? She knew she would never tire of looking at his hard, scared body, so different to her own. Just looking at him made her smile, gave her butterflies in her stomach, made her cunt slick with excited anticipation.

She wondered how best to wake him, to get him to finish what he started, to fill her with his hard cock so she could feel it pulse and jump inside her. She decided to reach for his cock and simultaneously seek his tongue with her own. She wriggled forward, trying not to touch him…at least, not yet. Then she worked her hand down under the covers, feeling heat radiating from him as she hovered her hand over his cock and gently, slowly, pressed her lips to his. As he stirred and sighed, she slid the pointed tip of her tongue between his lips, grinning to herself as he murmured 'Sansaaaa…' softly into her open mouth. Her fingertips found his cock; initially soft but reacting almost instantly to her touch as his hips instinctively rolled forwards, pushing his rapidly hardening manhood against her hand.

As his eyes finally opened, so grey as to look almost black in the pale light, she saw love and tenderness there that made her heart leap. A surge of wetness from her cunt answered the pulse of his cock. She pushed her tongue deeper into his mouth, delighting in the sensation of his silky tongue dancing with hers. She squeezed his cock gently, making him groan against her mouth. She wriggled closer, pressing her teats that felt huge and tender against his hard chest. Her hand and his cock were trapped between them. She gently worked the skin at the top of his cock back and forwards, running her thumb over the tip as she had shown her last night and his answering, heartfelt groan, told her she had remembered well. She draped one leg over his hip, clasping him to her with her thigh, still working his cock, angling it down, feeling her own hand bump between her thighs and, wondrously, the slick tip of his cock pressing up, underneath her, almost home, where he belonged…

Lost as he was in their passionate kiss, he suddenly realised what she was doing and gasped, jerking his head and his hips back. She tried to hold him close with her leg curled around his, but he was so much bigger, stronger and more practiced as this than she was.

"No!" he whispered hoarsely with something that might have been panic, shining in his eyes.

This time she wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

"You won't hurt me…I want this…I want this so much Sandor…" she murmured, eyes never leaving his, hand gently working his cock the way he liked.

"NO!" he said in a way that brooked no argument. His mouth was set in a tight line, one hand pushing her thigh off his, the other extracting his cock from her hand.

She felt her chin begin to tremble, her eyes well with tears. She didn't have the confidence or the experience to deal with his rejection. She thought he loved her, thought he would do anything for her.

He looked stricken as he realised she was on the verge of crying. "No, no, no little bird. Don't cry." He pleaded. He sat up and cradled her face in his hands.

Sandor took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for some task. When he opened his eyes again, his jaw was set and that determined look was back. The first time I saw you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman to ever walk this earth and I never dared to hope that one day you might share a bed with me - a ruined dog."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her by pressing a rough thumb against her lips.

"I know what I am…" he rasped, his voice thick with emotion "…and I know what you are; a Queen of the North who grows more precious to me with every passing day. Until the day I die, you will always be the most beautiful woman in Westeros to me."

She tried to lean forward to kiss him, to express her gratitude for those words that she knew didn't come easily to him, but he pulled back, not letting her lips reach his until he had said everything he needed to,

"Last night was more than I dared hope we would ever share but you must go back. I was selfish and wrong to want to keep you here with me – another cage for my little bird. I'll take you North as soon as we can be ready. Your mother's kin are nearer and safer for you than trying to make Winterfell with every bugger who fancies himself in a crown fighting over Westeros."

He gently wiped away a tear that had spilled, unbidden out of the corner of her eye.

Did he really intend to send her away? After all these weeks when he had made her fall, slowly, helplessly in love with him? Did he think she could leave him after he gave her the most magical night of her life? Leave Baby and Weasel and Mycah? And for what – at least Joffrey was dead, but she had learned enough about the Game of Thrones to know the Lannisters needed her to lay claim to The North and she would be traded into marriage to win the war or to keep the peace. Who would she be forced to wed next? Tommen? Her own mother had been betrothed to the elder brother and yet had married the younger in his stead. Tommen was little more than a baby and the thought of having to wait 10 years at Court for another man to bed her was more than she could bear. She would be a shrivelled old maid by then and the alternatives were even worse; Tyrion or Lord Tywin himself. A baby, a dwarf or an old man? Take your pick Sansa, or stay here with the man you love and the children you never want to leave.

"I won't go." He wasn't the only one who could clench his jaw, furrow his brow and play stubborn.

He pursed his lips and glared at her, exasperation written all over his face. "You'll do what's best for you – and that's not staying here."

"How do you know what's best for me?!" she hissed. "I have never been happier than I am here with you and the children. I thought you understood and were different and you turn out to be just like the rest of them! Ordering me around, telling me where I must go, what I must do! Well I won't!" she wanted to scream and shout at him, but kept her voice low to save waking the children.

"If you stay here…I…we…well… you're a beautiful woman…" he stammered, obviously unsure of how to express himself, running a shaking hand through his long, black hair. For the first time she felt the balance of power shift and she had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as his eyes dropped to her breasts and from there to her cunt, no longer hidden under by the sheets. She watched the same lust that had burned for her last night flare in his eyes as they raked over her naked body. She had her confirmation - he still felt the same, there was hope yet, but he wrenched his eyes back up to her face and continued, although his voice was now thick with desire "… and we have no moon tea and I'll not disrespect you or your family by getting a Bastard on you. So you have to leave and that's the end of it Sansa."

A Bastard? Why did he think that? She had offered herself to him freely. Of course they were to be married, how could he have though otherwise?

"Our child won't be a Bastard if we are man and wife." She said softly, watching him intently for his reaction.

She could tell he was shocked by her proposal, as if marrying her had never occurred to him. At first he didn't move but his eyes widened and she saw conflicting emotions cross his face. A flush began to rise from his neck, before he quickly turned away from her. He sat on the edge of the bed and started pulling on his breaches. She crawled across the bed and knelt behind him. She let her long, auburn hair fall over his shoulder and pressed her face into the unburned side of his neck, wrapping her arms around him. He stopped working with the laces of his breaches and groaned deeply. She rubbed her breasts against his muscled, scarred back, whispering against his ear. "Marry me and I will give you sons."

She felt his heart hammer in his chest. She had her proof he wanted this as much as she did.

"You once said to me '_A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face'."_She felt him stiffen against her. "Look me in the face Sandor and tell me you don't want to marry me."

He didn't turn around but he reached up to lay his hand gently against the side of her head in the tenderest of gestures. His voice was little more than a whisper as he said, "you know that's all I've ever wanted Sansa."

"Then we are agreed. Come back to bed…"

He groaned again. "Not until we are wed."

"Let us go to a Sept now then."

He snorted. "I have no faith in The Seven and every Septon I've ever met was bloody hypocrite – preaching about how to live a good life while they whored and drank and served themselves, same as the rest of us."

He turned around to see her face fall. "Your Northmen hold to the old Gods. It seems to me that if there is a God anywhere he's more like to be in stone, earth and tree than in a bloody Sept." he paused, gathering the courage to ask "Would you marry me before a heart tree, in the old way?"

"But we would need to travel north. There are no heart trees left in the south." Sansa said regretfully. She was loath to forgo The Seven, loath to wait at all and waiting weeks for them to travel to a Godswood was not a happy prospect.

He smirked "Typical bloody Lords to let everyone think the only sacred places are in their own fucking castles. Do you really think the common folk went to a castle every time they wanted to worship their Gods? Fuck that! There are still heart trees in most woods. The children of the forest might have been forgotten in the south, but that doesn't mean their trees are gone." He took her hands in his, his tone softening, "I can take you to a heart tree and we can be married before the sun is up if you will have me Sansa Stark."

"I will have you Sandor Clegane."

"Then put on your white dress for me. You made it from my Kingsguard cloak and, from what I know of your northern ways, that should do well enough…but from now on that dress is for my eyes only" he growled.

She grinned and hugged him again with happiness. She was to be married and she didn't care that there would be no new dress, no guests arriving from near and far, no dancing, no feasting and no bedding. All her life Sansa had thought she had wanted all of those fancy things and she would have had them all with Joffrey when he made her his Queen, but that had turned into a living nightmare. Now she was joyfully swapping all those wedding trimmings for the love of a good man and she had no doubt that Sandor was a good man. She had done her dancing last night, she would wed him before the Old Gods today and would gladly bed him anyway he wanted tonight.

She hurriedly jumped off the bed and began to gather up her small clothes.

"You'll have no need of small clothes this morning" he muttered, watching her out of the corner of his eye as he pulled on his boots.

She liked the sound of that. So she left her smallclothes on the bed and quivered with excitement and anticipation, heightened by the sensation of rough material brushing over her teats, as red as rubies from all the attention he had lavished upon them last night. The feeling of being bare under her dress was entirely new and very sensual. As she moved, the sensation of course cloth on sensitive skin almost made her gasp. She left the top two laces of her dress unfastened, so as not to torture her poor, raw teats any more. Unfettered by a bodice, her breasts swung free, barely concealed by her white dress.

When he stood up, fully dressed, his eyes immediately flew to the top of her dress. She watched him swallow hard. "What are you trying to do to me woman? Do you want me to ravish you before we make it to those damn trees?"

Sansa giggled, enjoying the power she had over this strange, scarred man. "I wouldn't mind. It's you won't…won't…won't _fuck me_ before we're married." She felt her face flush scarlet as she used that forbidden word. He hadn't taught her that. She had overheard it enough times, when no-one thought she was listening, to grasp its meaning. Saying it aloud for the first time made her cringe with embarrassment. She wondered if she sounded as young and foolish as she suddenly felt.

He closed the space between them in two long strides, cupping the globes of her buttocks in his hands, pulling her into him while burying his face between her breasts and in her hair that tumbled freely around her shoulders. She gasped as his rock hard cock pressed against her cunt and the stubble on his cheeks and chin rasped against her oh-so-tender breasts.

"Once we're wed, I'll fuck you Lady like you'll never forget." He promised, his voice thick, muffled by hair and breast and lust. He lifted his head and kissed her mouth lightly, pulling away as she parted her lips for more.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her after him out into the dawn light.

The morning was misty, still and grey. Only Dog's excited whine as they approached broke the quiet perfection of the dawn. Sandor stopped and looked at Sansa, silently asking her for her approval. She nodded and smiled. Dog could be their witness. Sandor untied the rope and Dog immediately bounded over and buried his nose in Sansa's dress, making her giggle as he pressed his snout against the top of her legs (_her cunt_ she had to remind herself), no doubt catching the scent of his master on her secret place.

"I see I'm not the only one who can't resist your cunt." Sandor snorted, pulling a reluctant Dog away by his collar. Holding Dog's collar with one hand, he entwined the fingers of his other with Sansa's.

"The barn first." He muttered. The three of them made their way across to the barn where Stranger and Sansa's courser were standing, necks resting against each other in a perfect picture of equine contentment. Stranger opened one big, brown eye, saw Sandor and gave a soft whiney of greeting. When the destrier realised his master wasn't coming with food or saddle, the huge horse disdainfully closed his eye again and returned to nuzzling his mate's neck.

In a corner of the barn, from a high shelf, Sandor pulled down a heavy, yellow bundle, sending a field mouse scurrying off to find another shelter. Tucking it under one arm he led them down the hill towards the stream and their waterfall. Dog almost immediately caught the scent of some animal, pulling and whining until Sandor let him loose to disappear at full pelt into the trees.

"Is it far?" Sansa wondered. She was beginning to shiver. It would be another hour before the sun was fully above the horizon and perhaps another hour after that before there would be enough heat to warm her bones.

He wrapped one warm arm around her, pulling her close into his side. "Not as far as you would think, but we need to cross the stream."

They were almost at the stream and, without warning; he scooped her up effortlessly, with one arm under her knees, one behind her shoulders and walked into the water. "You're shivering already, no sense in getting your feet wet." She snuggled into his shoulder, enjoying his warmth and his thoughtfulness.

"You know what this reminds me of?" she asked

He looked down at her and frowned. "No and it better not be some other man."

She was shocked he could even think that. "You know no other man has ever carried me away! I meant the night you rescued me."

"You think I rescued you little bird." He sighed. It was a statement, not a question. He set her down gently on the grassy bank, his face dark and serious. "After all this time, you still think of me as a knight from one of your stories who came to the rescue of a beautiful maiden. This is why I wanted you to leave me Sansa. I didn't rescue you – _I stole you_." He said bitterly. "I coveted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. I wanted you, ached for you and tortured myself with thoughts of how I could make you mine – not all of them pretty. I saw my opportunity that night and I took it!" He spat bitterly, "I have seen things and done things you cannot imagine, that I can never tell you. I am a dirty, soiled dog and you…you are so pure. Oh Sansa, I'm scared. I fear if I really loved you, I would _make_ you leave me." He clenched his fits and gazed skyward and, if she didn't know him better, she might have thought he was praying.

He had just admitted to her he was scared, something The Hound would admit to no man. How could she have wrought such a change in him? She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, drawing him down, making him look at her.

"You rescued me and it was your desire for me that gave you strength to do it. I know the risk you took and I know you took it for love…" he groaned and started to protest, but she silenced him with a determined look "…and don't try to deny it. I see it in you. I see love when you look at me and the children. You think if you hide behind your armour and your scars we won't see it, but we do."

She stroked both sides of his face with loving fingers and finally understood the ruined man and the man he should have been, the killer and the lover. He had suppressed the best part of him all his life but she was going to make sure she tended to it and nurtured it for the rest of hers.

She pressed her lips against his scarred cheek and murmured softly, "I love you and I know you love me. Now marry me as you promised you would."

He stared at her with dark, stormy eyes and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse, going to try and send her away again, but he grabbed her hand and entwined his fingers with hers, silently giving her the answered she needed.

They walked as quickly as they could over the dew soaked grass towards the trees. She saw no sign of a path, but he knew the way and led her through the wood. All around them, birds were singing. She didn't think she had ever been up and about early enough to hear the dawn chorus before. Their excitement at the dawn of a new day was infectious and she found herself wanting to sing too. Without thinking she started,

_Gentle Mother, font of mercy_

_Save our sons from war we pray… _

He stopped dead in his tracks. Without looking at her he rasped, "Are you really going to sing that? Do you want to make me cry again?"

She hadn't been sure, wasn't certain if it was blood or tears on his face that night in King's Landing, but she had her answer now. Her stomach lurched and her heart twisted. She felt terrible. She had thoughtlessly upset him with her stupid song, but when he turned to look down at her, his eyes were twinkling with laughter.

"We've come a long way, haven't we little bird?"

She sagged with relief; he was teasing her. The Sandor of King's Landing didn't tease. He was all blood and anger and drink, but this was the other Sandor, _her_ Sandor.

"For a moment I thought…" she trailed off. She didn't know what she thought. The whole lot of it was too awful to think about. She wanted to forget everything that had happened at King's Landing and never have to think of it again, but there was one thing she wanted to ask him,

"Why were you sleeping in my bed?"

He snorted. "Why do you think? You've shared my bed now; you must know I wanted to share yours then and I certainly wasn't sleeping" he chuckled.

"Oh" was all she could manage to say in reply. Of course! It seemed so obvious now, but back then she genuinely didn't know why. She certainly hadn't wanted to share his bed, hadn't wanted to touch him, hadn't even wanted to look at him. But now she ached for him, couldn't get enough of him, needed his solid warmth in her bed and wanted to feel him move inside her.

"We have come a long way haven't we?"

"And we'll go further together my Lady." He grinned, squeezing her hand.

The trees they passed now were older, spaced further apart and she _felt_ they were nearing their destination. Sure enough, his pace slowed until she was walking beside him, rather than being pulled along behind. Together, side by side, they walked towards a clearing, where the oldest tree in the wood stood, its trunk so wide it would take three men's arms to encircle it. Sansa gasped with awe. She had been in a Godswood before of course, but the face carved on the weirwood in Winterfell had always seemed to her to be grim and foreboding. That was one of the reasons she preferred The Seven, but this heart tree was different. From its roots spread a carpet of grass, dotted with buttercups, dew making the grass sparkle like a cloak of silver flecked with gold in the morning light. The face carved by the children of the forest seemed sleepy, yet joyous, just like the morning itself. She couldn't think of anywhere more perfect to declare her love for this man and the Sept wedding she had always dreamt about suddenly seemed woefully dull by comparison.

Sandor seemed caught up in the moment too as he stood still beside, drinking in the scene. She knew this would be their special place for ever.

She would have stood there all day, watching the light sparkle on the grass and glisten on bright green leaves, but he walked into the clearing, pulling her with him.

When they were well under the canopy of whispering leaves, he solemnly took his yellow cloak from under his arm and shook it out. She noticed it was embroidered (rather badly she thought) with three, black rampant dogs, before he fastened it around her neck. It smelled of the barn and sweat, but she didn't mind at all.

He kneeled down before her, one hand on his knee, one touching the ground and hung his head.

"I swear before you Sansa Stark and before the Old Gods that everything I have is yours. My life is yours to do with what you will."

She touched her hand to his chin and gently raised his head, smiling as she saw the fierce love burning in his eyes.

"I have nothing to give you Sandor Clegane except myself…" She swiftly unfastened the laces of her dress, letting it fall and pool at her feet as he watched her hungrily. She stood before him, naked, except for his cloak around her shoulders "…and everything I have, I give to you."

He lifted his hands to her thighs and caressed them gently before running his hands further up and around to clasp her buttocks. He slowly pulled her towards him and buried his face in her cunt, causing her to cry out with pleasure and surprise. This was not how she imagined her wedding vows would finish. She grasped his hair with both hands as he sucked and licked her with long, teasing strokes. He seemed to be able to draw indescribably wonderful feelings from her so easily. She felt her knees tremble and only his strong arms prevented her from collapsing altogether. She felt her orgasm building, but this wasn't all she wanted, he had promised her _more_.

"Please…please stop…you said…oh Sandor…" she gasped, wondering if she was doing the right thing, making him stop. She wanted him inside her, but didn't want to loose this moment as it felt so good.

But he obeyed and stopped as she ordered, looking up at her, his mouth and chin glistening with her juices. He couldn't help grinning as he straightened up and led her to the base of the tree. He pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion before sitting down on the ground, his back against the tree and unfastening the laces of his breaches, allowing his cock to spring free, solid, heavy and waiting for her.

"Come here wife and let me put our son in your belly."

She wasn't sure what she was to do, but he gently pulled her down onto him, shifting one of her legs over his, so she was straddling him. She was obviously unsure of what to do next. He urged her to lift up slightly, while he held his cock firmly with one hand and with the other moved her so the tip of his cock was positioned against the entrance to her cunt.

"You're good and wet wife." He grinned even more widely. He would never tire of calling this beautiful maiden '_wife_'. "Now slide down onto me. Relax and take it slowly."

Sansa bit her lip. Now it was going to happen she wondered how all of _that _was going to fit in _there, _but she did what he asked, rolling her hips and trying to move down, feeling him nudge against her. He stroked her hair with his free hand, leaning forward to plant a sweet kiss on her lips, wanting to plunder her mouth as hard and as urgently as he wanted to claim her cunt, but knowing this first time had to be gentle and slow if she was going to remember it with anything other than pain. He did his utmost to rein himself and his passion in.

Sansa parting her lips for him and his tongue slowly began to dance with hers. It was all he could do to regulate his breathing and try and keep control. She pressed her teats against him, skin on skin, tongue on tongue, cock against cunt, making it hard for him to even think straight.

_Hold, Sandor, hold…she'll let you know when she's ready. _

She undulated against him, moaning softly as his free hand roamed from her hair, to her hip to her clit, strumming that little nub, encouraging her to allow him to enter her wondrous body. He was aware of her shifting slightly as their kiss deepened even further and suddenly, the bulbous head of his cock was in, causing her to gasp sharply at his invasion of her body while he groaned with barely contained lust. She was so tight and wet, her springy auburn curls soaked with her desire for him. _Yes him_, he could still hardly believe it was true and that knowledge alone was almost enough to make him lose his load. That, combined with her exquisite tightness was enough to ensure he would not last much longer. He was beginning to pant with the effort of holding back and not thrusting up into her sublime, virgin cunt, taking her maidenhead that was so willingly offered. He didn't want to hurt her, at least as little as possible and wanted her decide how much, how fast and how deep, but he wanted her to decide _soon_.

"How does that feel?" he managed to gasp.

"Strange, but good…I think I like it." She smiled shyly down at him.

"I…ahh.." before he could say anything else, she shifted again, her internal muscles squeezing his cock harder, the tip of his cock staining against her maidenhead. He was going to cum, whether she took him all or not. She said she wanted this and he had promised her a fuck she would never forget. _Hold, hold, hold Sandor_. "I need you to slide down further on to me. It might hurt, but you'll still be a maiden unless you…"

She didn't wait for him to finish, instead she rested her hands on his shoulders, staring into his eyes with a steely determination and pushed herself down. She took him all, crying out as he tore through her virginity. He was too lost in the moment to offer her any soothing words, thrusting up into her as her tight muscles squeezed his whole length. She instinctively moved with him, gasping his name as her fingers dug into his shoulders and his worked at her clit, desperate to give her the orgasm she deserved. It took only a few strokes before his cock pulsed inside her, spurting great gouts of cum, sending her over the edge, making her convulse on him, her cunt greedily sucking his seed up inside her. His teeth were gritted so tightly, the feeling was so intense, that he couldn't even whisper her name until the last waves of his orgasm broke and subsided, leaving him panting, his eyes still locked on hers, marvelling that his fragile little bird could respond to him as if she had been fucking for years.

She was panting too, eyes glazed as she came down from her first cock driven orgasm. It took a few more moments before she was able to speak.

"Have you put our son in my belly?"

He grinned and had to try hard not to laugh. He wasn't sure if she was teasing him or not.

"I hope so, but no matter if I didn't put him there this time. We'll just need to keep practising."

"Oh" she looked rather crestfallen. She had expected him to confirm he had given her a son after all.

"Sometimes it takes a while Sansa. Some ladies are married for years before they produce a child." _And some never produce any_, he thought ruefully, hoping his luck would hold and that she would bear him the son they both wanted.

"I have heard ladies complain that it is a chore to lie with their Lords. Do you think we did it right as that could never be a chore?"

This time he did laugh. "Oh we did it right my Lady!" He lifted her off him, albeit rather reluctantly. She was going to be sore enough without him staying in her sweet centre too long.

"Well, if you're sure…" she muttered, catching sight of the blood that clung to the dark hair at the root of his cock and pulling a face.

"Don't worry. You'll only bleed once and it's easily cleaned. Next time, or maybe the time after that, it won't hurt at all and then you can really begin to enjoy it."

"But I enjoy it already!" she declared, pouting defiantly as if he had scolded her for something she didn't do.

"Just you wait wife!" he playfully slapped her rump and she squealed with surprise. He longed to roll her over and really fuck her properly, on her back in the damp grass with her legs wrapped around his back, but that would have to wait. Hopefully they would have a lifetime together to enjoy each other. "We'd better get back before the children miss us."

"You have obviously never bought those children toys before." Sansa giggled. "They'll not even notice we're gone for hours yet." She leaned over and kissed him again, teasingly sliding the tip of her tongue between his lips. That suddenly reminded him how hungry he was and Dog also chose that moment to reappear, bounding towards them with a pheasant in his mouth, which he dropped at Sansa's feet, wagging his tail excitedly.

"He's brought you a wedding present!" Sandor laughed as Sansa tried to avoid Dog's attempts to sniff her cunt again. "Poor Dog, I think he needs a bitch of his own!"

"I just wish he'd stop sniffing me!" Sansa wailed, "It was bad enough when I had my dress on!"

Sandor hauled on Dog's collar and he sat down happily at Sansa's feet, tongue lolling out, dribbling on the dead bird.

"Come on, we'd better get you and your wedding present cleaned up."

Sansa started to put her dress on, but Sandor stopped her. "You'll just get blood on it. Best wait until we've washed under the waterfall."

"But what if someone sees me?" she asked, shocked that he would suggest she walk around naked but for his cloak.

"Who do you think is going to see you around here?" he chuckled.

She supposed he was right and reluctantly gathered up her dress while he grabbed the bird and Dog's collar. Dog totted along happily beside them and Sansa felt as happy as Dog looked.

"Can we come back here?" she asked as they left the magical clearing for the sun dappled wood.

"Any time you like. Just don't go without telling me first."

"Oh. Do you think it's too dangerous?" she wondered, suddenly worried.

"No, I just want to come!" he laughed and whispered against her ear "…so I can make you cum!" his hot breath and the promise of pleasure, making her shiver with excitement, rather than the cold.

"Let's come back tomorrow then." She decided happily.

"We'll see. I plan on your not getting much sleep tonight wife. You might not want to rise before the dawn tomorrow."

"We'll see…_husband_." she giggled.

The waterfall was cold and despite seeing each other naked still being a thrilling prospect, neither wanted to linger too long under the icy water. Sansa enjoyed Sandor vigorously rubbing her dry with his cloak, particularly when he paid so much attention to her bottom and her breasts. She could easily have let him fuck her again then and there. She realised he was probably right about it getting better. She wanted to do it under the waterfall, in their bed, in the barn…oh _everywhere _with him and, judging by his cock, standing proud against the hard muscles of his stomach, he was thinking the same. She wondered why they had waited so long, the two of them so awkward, avoiding even the slightest touch from the other when this intimacy made everything so much better. They would just have to make up for lost time she decided.

He made her fasten her dress all the way up, despite her teats feeling even more sensitive than they had earlier. The two of them groaned equally loudly as he had tied her laces, Sansa with the slightly painful but erotic sensation of her teats being manhandled again and Sandor with frustration at having to hide them away.

As Sansa had predicted, the children were too engrossed in their new toys to notice that the two of them were gone. Mycah was outside, practising with his wooden sword, lunging and parrying at the largest tree stump. Sansa knew how seriously Robb and Jon had taken their sword play at Mycah's age and she stopped to offer some words of encouragement, which Mycah received with great delight, while Sandor stood behind him rolling his eyes.

"You have to be more encouraging" Sansa hissed as they left Mycah to continue maiming the tree stump and they walked towards the cabin.

"The boy's too old to start and if you carry a sword you sure as hell need to know how to use it or some other bugger will use his on you." Sandor snorted. "He'll be going back to the kind of butchering he's more fitted to soon enough." Sansa's heart lurched as Sandor reminded her that Mycah could go home now Joffrey was dead. His parents didn't even know he was still alive, having assumed, as everyone else had, that Sandor had carried out Joffrey's orders. Sansa knew it was best for Mycah, but she'd miss him; his awkwardness and his ready smile.

"All the more reason for you to spend some time with him. Show him a few defensive moves. It might come in handy one day."

Sandor grumbled his reluctant agreement.

Inside the cabin, Weasel had made a bed for her doll from a kitchen bowl and cloth while Baby was charging his toy horse and knight up and down the table making all sorts of happy noises. Sansa caught Sandor's eye and grinned. He smiled back. Sansa was hoping there might be a plump little baby in a crib to add to the blissful domestic scene before too long and she wondered if Sandor was thinking the same.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Sansa asked the busy children.

"No, we were all waiting on you, including my doll. I've decided to call her Sansa too." Weasel replied, being far too busy fixing her doll's covers to look up at them.

"Really?" Sansa was flattered, although she was sure it would lead to much confusion.

"Yes, now I'll have two Sansas to take care of." Weasel said happily, causing Sandor to unsuccessfully stifle a snigger. Sansa tried to glare at him, but she was far too happy to manage a convincing one, instead she ended up laughing too.

Sandor took her in his arms and murmured "I love to hear you laugh little bird, you never laughed in King's Landing."

"Neither did you."

The two of them stood hugging each other, wrapped up in their new found happiness. It wasn't until Baby tugged on Sansa's dress and asked "Why are you cuddling him?" that they realised Baby and Weasel had stopped playing and were looking at them with very puzzled expressions on their faces. Sansa had quite forgotten that the day before she had never as much as touched Sandor. Now she was hugging him in the middle of the room. She hastily tried to pull away, but Sandor wasn't having that and held her tighter.

"I just want to cuddle him too." She explained to Sandor so he would loosen his grip enough to let her bend down and pick Baby up. The little boy snuggled into Sansa, cradling his toy knight and wrapping his other chubby arm around Sandor's neck, a look of absolute bliss on his sweet face.

"Don't forget me and Sansa!" Weasel squealed, running over and colliding with their legs. Sandor scooped her up too and the four of them (five if you included doll Sansa) hugged, much to Sandor's obvious embarrassment.

"Why are you crying Sansa?" Weasel wondered, screwing up her face. Sansa had tried to hide behind Baby's head, but it hadn't worked.

"Sometimes people cry because they're so happy." She sniffed. Being caught crying made her feel even more emotional.

"Well that's just silly." Weasel declared firmly as Sandor carefully put her back down. "Sansa and I are really, really happy and we're not crying, are we Sansa?" she waggled the doll's head from side to side in an emphatic 'no'.

"I don't think you're silly, but I don't want you to cry any more." Baby whimpered, his bottom lip trembling too.

Sansa kissed the top of his head. "I am being silly and I'll not cry any more" she sniffed wondering how on earth she would manage that, as his big, sad eyes were about to set her off, worse than ever.

"Time for breakfast!" Sandor growled, having no idea how to deal with a crying woman and not wanting to have to. "Weasel, where did you put those saddle bags last night?"

Weasel pointed and Sandor lifted them onto the table, before unfastening one of the straps and pulling out a waxed paper package and an oblong wooden box. He placed them triumphantly in the middle of the table. "Your wedding feast Sansa!" he declared proudly.

"Wedding?!" Weasel shrieked.

"Run and get Mycah." Sandor ordered. Weasel didn't make any attempt to move, standing gawping at him open mouthed. "Now!" he roared. She ran.

Sandor unwrapped the wax paper to reveal five perfect lemon cakes. The box contained a large chunk of golden honeycomb.

"I think I'm going to cry again." Sansa whispered as she sat down at the table with Baby on her knee. He reached for a cake but she pulled his hand back. "You have to remember your manners Baby. No-one wants those lemon cakes more than I do, but we have to wait until every one is here."

"Yes mummy." He said sadly.

Having him call her 'mummy' was enough to send her over the edge again. She sobbed into Baby's soft hair as Sandor winked at the child and motioned for him to take a cake anyway, which he did gleefully.

When Mycah and Weasel were also at the table, eating lemon cakes dipped in honey, Sandor cleared his throat and gruffly said "Sansa and I swore an oath today before the heart tree. She is now my wife so I'll not be sleeping in the barn anymore."

Weasel giggled, Mycah blushed furiously and Baby looked from one to the other, having no idea what was going on, but having too much sticky lemon cake in his mouth to care much about anything else.

"The three of you can take your lemon cakes and your toys outside as it's very tiring getting married and Sansa and I need to take a nap."

This time Sansa blushed furiously and cast her eyes down, suddenly finding something very interesting on the floor.

The children made no move until Sandor bellowed "OUT!" and then they all scrambled for the door at once.

"Ready to take a nap wife?"

"I am rather tired" Sansa admitted, having not got much sleep last night and thinking it was very tiring getting married.

"Well, you can take one _after_ I bed you." He murmured in a voice thick with lust.

"Can I eat my lemon cake first?"

He grabbed the last lemon cake from the middle of the table and strode towards the bedroom growling "You want it, come and get it!" over his shoulder.

She wasn't going to let that lemon cake go and she ran after him as fast as she could.

**Hope that was worth waiting for! I think another two chapters are needed to complete this story. No more extended breaks! One chapter a week until I'm done…promise…**


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